


Catch a Ride On The Tardis

by Alphabetaomega



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character death.. but not really?, Fire, Hurt/Comfort, Like.. characters die., M/M, Mixed feelings, Pack!Family, Pining, Sex, Suicide Attempt, Time Travel, Young Derek!, but they don't stay dead, fluff in later chapters, withdrawl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphabetaomega/pseuds/Alphabetaomega
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where the Alpha pack wages war and Stiles's whole world falls down around him. On a whim he goes to Dr. Deaton who offers him and the pack a chance to go back in time and try to change the future. The goal: Prevent the Hale house fire.</p><p>Stiles doesn't know how it happens but he finds himself slowly falling for the young sourwolf. Though he's warned, the clock is ticking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Playing With Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I love my Beta-Audrey, for catching all my dumb late-night mistakes.  
> This may suck at first. But, I have it all planned out.  
> Serously, I have big ass plans for this fanfiction. I promise lots of love and fluff and angst and romance and a really sexy and awkward teenage Derek.

 

The flames dance in and out of the trees that fill the Hale reserve. Their teeth crackle loudly against the trees and grass. Thick smoke blocks out the sun.

Stiles is too shocked to cry or scream. “Dad?” He just stands over his father’s body with shaking hands and a racing heart. Stiles knows he’s dead, but that doesn’t keep him from calling out his name anyway. _‘God, no, please.’_

He drops to his knees and digs his nails into the hard ground until it hurts. This can’t be happening. Not when Stiles had gone so far to protect him from the truth, from the harm and hurt of the supernatural world. His father’s badge reflects the fire’s color and makes the growing pool of blood look like candy apple. There’s so much blood that Stiles can smell the metallic rust in the air.

Black smoke stings his eyes and clogs his throat. He tries to breathe normally, and it works for a second or two, until the smoke reaches his lungs. Stiles’ heart groans in his chest. He draws in the smoggy air and then looses it: breaks down, in the middle of all the chaos and terror and submits to the pain.

  
Crying, Stiles has never been a big fan of crying, what teenage boy is? He doesn’t care though, he feels like he’s five years old again. Closing in on himself, he lets the tears fall and the gasps rip uncontrollably from his lungs. He's cried pretty hard before, but not like this. This is, _suffocating_. This is pain. Stiles can feel the bitter hurt seep into his bones and he though he tries, he can't stop screaming.

When his mother left him, he had to watch her slowly disappear. He had time to let her go. Once the initial shock of her cancer ran its course through her system he began to plan his day carefully. He never went a day without telling her he loved her, never turned down a bedtime story, and when the time came, he’d sleep beside her in her hospital bed. Now his father is gone too and Stiles can’t even begin to process how he’s an _orphan_ now. The emptiness settles around him and hangs in the air above his shoulders.

All Hell has broken out around him, clawing its way through the forest behind the Hale house and seeping into the streets of Beacon Hills. The Alpha pack set the forest on fire to chase Derek’s pack out of hiding. They must be on the streets by now, clawing and biting and dying right in broad day light. His friends, even Allison, they’re all fighting. Beyond the roar of the flames, right in his ear, Stiles shouldn’t be able to hear the howls of dying wolves and the screams of humans, but he can. He hears their pain and it scares him to know that past the ring of fire, Beacon Hills has turned into a battlefield.

The Alpha pack’s been quietly lurking in Beacon Hills for about a month now. Erica and Boyd are still missing and the whole pack, Stiles included, has been anxiously waiting for any sign of them. Derek’s been training them, Scott included; preparing them for the faceoff with the Alpha pack if things were to get nasty. They had played out every scenario and gone through every training move but it was hard, not knowing what they were up against.

His pack isn’t completely alone in this fight though. A large amount of hunters also seemed to appear out of the blue to lend a hand. No thanks to Chris Argent, who’d probably like to keep his home in tact and werewolf free.

It was the waiting game that killed Stiles. It makes him nauseas. Stiles thought he and his pack were prepared for anything thrown their way. He actually thought that, but looking back now, he wished he hadn’t.

They weren’t prepared for a surprise attack. They weren’t prepared to have to defend all of Beacon Hills. The cruel reality is that they’re outnumbered. They’re horribly outnumbered and Stiles knows his tiny pack of seasoned betas stand little chance against the veteran Alpha pack.

Stiles can’t breathe. Can’t suck in oxygen to save his life. Partly because he’s lying next to his father’s dead body and the ache is so intense that he’s shaking, and partly because the fire is closing in on him.

Suddenly, he remembers that he hasn't seen Scott since the attack. His blood turns to ice in his veins and shatters his will to move out of the fires path. What if Scott is hurt? Stiles can’t bear the thought.

Without warning, Stiles feels himself being picked up from the ground. He lashes out, twisting sideways to drag his nails across whatever skin he can get. He hears a grunt and barley registers that it's Derek. Stiles doesn't care though. He’s too broken, too confused, and continues to twist and fight against Derek's hold. Stiles lets his impulsive rush of anger out on Derek. Only because he knows Derek will heal and Derek won’t let him go. But that’s exactly what Stile’s wants him to do; let him go. So, his struggles become violent thrashing when Derek tries to drag him away from his father.

“Let go!” Stiles yells and kicks Derek in the shin. The flames burn easily through Stiles’s clothes to lick at his pale skin.

He’s having one of those moments where he’s so taken over with emotion that he can’t even scream properly. He can’t leave his father. He _won’t._ But Derek’s grip around his waist is strong to the point of being painful.

“I’m sorry,” Is all Derek says and doesn’t stop hauling Stiles through the forest.

Stiles’ head is spinning. The first thing he does when Derek lets him go is roll over and vomit. The second thing he does is punch Derek right in the jaw before falling to his knees. Derek falls too, or stumbles really. It seems, they’re in the middle of the street with the fire not far behind them. Derek’s brought him right into the action. Stiles looks to his left and can see hunters and their weapons clashing with unfamiliar wolves.

He looks for Scott, he really does, but finding his friend in the midst of the meele is next to imposible. Stiles stays on his hands and knees on the pavement until a stray wolf comes and tries to attack him. He flinches backwards, but before he can even stand up Derek is in front of him, claws out, eyes red, and roaring louder than Stiles has ever heard. Derek knocks the werewolf back but doesn’t chase after it as it runs the other direction; he stays in front of Stiles.

Stiles finally spots Scott a second later but there’s no way to get to him. Scott’s silhouette interrupts the line where the ground meets the sky. When Scott darts forward and cries out, Stiles can’t help the rise of sheer panic inside him. For a second, Stiles feels like he’ll be sick again. Then, he sees Scott’s body collide with another’s and realizes his best friend isn’t the one hurt. Allison is.

Her long brunette hair falls over Scott’s arms as he catches her before she falls. Stiles doesn’t need super hearing to know what words are on Scott’s lips. _Allison, please-._ He watches in mute horror as Scott lays her down and cradles her too him.

“Scott?” Allison asks dazedly. She can’t feel anything, her body is cold but her blood is still hot putting her heart in a painful limbo. She almost wishes that the white hot pain was back because feeling nothing means she’s closer to dying.

“I’m here,” the younger werewolf chokes, “I’m here.” He presses his forehead to hers and kisses her nose.

“I-,” she begins.

“Shh, no. Okay, d-don’t talk. Save your strength.” He wipes the blood from her lip and she gives the slightest smile.

“Am I dying?”Allison takes a deep breath but it turns to a series of pain filled gasps. Scott whines and his throat tightens. She doesn’t know why she asked. The look she gets from Scott is enough to make her heart stop right on the spot. “Scott-,”

“Please,” Scott begs and holds her closer. He’s crying now. Even after all that went down this past year between them, breaking up countless times and sneaking around. In the end, Scott is the one to catch her before she hits the ground.

Allison looks up at him and it pulls Scott’s heartstrings. “I love you,” she whispers, her voice cracking in the middle. The thought of dying suddenly washes over her and she feels such a strong urge to be with Scott and make him smile that it brings tears to her eyes, knowing she might not be able too.

Scott says it back to her, but he says it twice, not sure if he actually spoke the first time. The thought of Allison dying really hits him in that moment, _desperately_ so, and Scott feels like he’s dying too. “Please, Allison. Please, just hang on. I-,”

Stiles’s heart rises in his throat. He sees Scott stop mid sentence and curl into Allison. Even with the distance between them Stiles can see Scott’s sobbing. He has one hand on Allison’s face, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Her eyes are closed and Stiles can only guess from the way Scott is acting, that Allison’s heart has stopped.  

Stiles is trying to stand when he’s knocked back down so forcefully that his head slams against the pavement. God, he’s seeing stars when he opens his eyes. There is a painful throb hammering at the back of his head when he sits up. His vision clears eventually but he can bet good money on that pavement doing a good number on his cranium because he’s hallucinating. Or at least, he think’s he’s hallucinating… until the ‘hallucination’ of Matt Daehler starts charging at him.

Derek steps in front of Stiles.

“Didn’t that fucker die?” Stiles tries to remember. “He died, right? So then, why-,”

“How could you!” Matt yells at the top of his lungs as he advances on Derek. “How could you leave me all those years! How come you never fought for me, or visited me. Didn’t you fucking care?!” Matt swings his fist and punches Derek square in the side of the face.

Derek actually falls over and for a second Stiles thinks he’s next. But Matt bypasses his presence, and instead hones in on the young Alpha. “I’ll show you. I’ll make you pay for leaving me all alone all those years.”

Stiles slowly stands and watches Matt transform. He grows claws, fangs, and his eyes turn red, and holy shit: Matt is part of the Alpha pack.

Derek growls and stares up at Matt with equally red eyes. “I don’t kn-,”

“Oh shut up, give me a break-,” Matt swings his leg to hit Derek in the chest but Derek catches it and twists it sideways. The move Matt does next is so quick, Stiles barely sees the movement but the next thing he knows, Matt has Derek on the ground, his boot on Derek’s chest. “Did you really think I wouldn’t remember eventually? I mean, sure, when Gerard drown me I thought I was a goner,” he moves his jaw back and forth, exposing his fangs. “Until I washed up somewhere and the Alpha pack took me in.”

Stiles sees an opening and goes for it. He slams all his weight into Matt, using a goalie technique he learned in lacross to fully throw Matt off of Derek. Matt rears up and growls at Stiles, “Stilinski. Beacon Hills’ number one loser.” Matt stands and walks towards him, “How does it feel? Knowing I’m going to kill everything you love and hold most dear, and there’s nothing you can do about it?” Matt’s grin is cut short when Derek tackles him to the ground.

Stiles would help Derek but he finds himself a little preoccupied with a stray wolf. This one is a girl and she jumps him from behind. Since Stiles has no real formal training he resorts to hair pulling and thanks his lucky stars that he keeps his own short. Her claws slice easily into his back and when he tries to throw her off, she only deepens the hold.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Derek’s gone into Alpha mode and, surprisingly, so has Matt. They’re on the ground, both fighting to get the upper hand. Claws and teeth and super strength. Matt has obviously been working out in the time he was suppose to be dead. It’s also easy to see he’s been getting some very good training.

The battle almost seemed to move, and before Stiles knew it, he is literally right in the middle. Now he not only has to worry about fighting off this one wolf, he has to worry about any others jumping him.

A hunter near him is cut down, his blood washes the pavement and his body drops like a brick. Stiles’s sickened gaze lasts one second too long. In that second, the stray knocks his legs out from under him and rakes her claws over his collar bone. His skin is stretched thinly over those bones, making him appear more delicate than he’d like to be perceived. Her claws slice easily to the bone. _Fuck,_ he thinks, _fuck this hurts._


	2. Somewhere Between Sky and Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sees the sleepless nights in the stained skin of Derek’s parted lips and can tell; he’s tasted heaven and gone through hell.

The adrenaline makes him forget that people are literally being torn to shreds inches from him. He goes to kick the girl off him but misses, he misses because Isaac grabs her by the neck and flings her backwards: Stiles couldn’t be any more pleased with Isaac’s timing.

The taller boy looks like he’s been to hell and back, his blonde hair is a tangled, sweaty mess. There’s dirt smudged on his forehead and caked under his claws, and a fair amount of blood on his clothes. Not that Stiles is looking any better, with his definitely busted lip from where Matt sucker-punched him to the ground, his open blisters from the fire, and the long, red claw marks going down his neck.

“I think Allison is dead.” Isaac pulls Stiles to his feet. “I-I don’t know what to do,” he pants.

Before Stiles can reach out, or even yell to warn Isaac about the Alpha behind him, it’s too late and Isaac is thrown to the side. This Alpha looks like a wolf, looks like Peter had when Stiles first saw him at the high school. Big, black, and furry all over, with a grotesque set of canines and a crooked snout. Isaac hits the ground and Stiles is pretty sure he hears a bone crack. His stomach lurches and his head pounds.

He runs. He turns and runs the other way, but the Alpha takes this as a challenge and shoves after Stiles, who doesn’t bother looking back. He’s sweaty and in so much pain, it feels like he’s running through quick sand. The adrenaline rush he had before is wearing off dramatically, and he doesn’t know how it happens, but he ends up flat on his face.

It takes every ounce of will Stiles has left to lift himself up and keep running. He gets away with inches to spare between him and the Alpha’s claws. His lungs are burning with exhaustion when he trips again. This time he yells in shock and cusses his clumsy feet. He bites his lip on the way down and can feel the blood run down his chin.

Stiles turns around just in time to see the Alpha pounce. His fangs are bared and his claws are out. A rush of sickness wells up inside him and he has a split second to acknowledge death, but the moment never comes.

Derek is in front of him in a flash. A fierce growl rips from his lungs as he puts himself between Matt and Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t know how to feel when the Alpha slams into Derek-It seems surreal. When he’s careening backwards with Derek on top of him and the Alpha inches away from him, its claws lodged in Derek’s stomach, he doesn’t want to believe that this is really happening. The Alpha’s claws poke out of the skin on Derek’s back and Stiles starts to cry again, the situation is so fucked up and he’s pinned under these two werewolves. One of them just protected him with his life while the other is probably going to kill them both.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers, unsure of himself. He can’t see Derek’s face from the angle he’s at, but he feels something wet growing on the hem of his jeans and down. Stiles looks down and gags because that’s _a lot_ of blood coming from Derek’s back and Stiles’s nerves are starting to catch up with him. “Derek,” he says again, and his breath hitches.

The Alpha pulls his claws out of Derek and roars. The sound hits Stiles right in the pit of his soul and actually makes him start to shake.

Derek groans loudly, “Matt,” his head rolls to the side and lands of Stiles’s shoulder. Instinctively, Stiles wraps his arms around Derek.

The Alpha in front of them growls. His voice low and demonic, “This is your fault, Derek.”

Stiles doesn’t even try to understand. All he knows is that if he doesn’t get Derek out of here, he’ll die.

Matt grabs Derek by the neck and yanks him forward, “You never loved me!” he screeches and throws him across the road. After a moment, Derek stands and readies himself to attack. Matt turns his back to Stiles, “Your own flesh and blood, Derek. I was all you had left and you abandoned me.” Matt snarls.

Stiles notices the patches of missing fur all along Matt’s back. Claw marks and teeth marks- Dereks marked him up pretty bad.

Derek’s hand moves to clutch the open wound on his stomach. For some reason, he’s not healing. Stiles wants to help but he knows it isn’t the best decision to act as the buffer between two supernatural creatures; even though Derek jumped in front of him, a regular old human. Even though Derek’s bleeding out on the battlefield because he saved Stiles’s life; Stiles can’t work the courage to do the same for Derek. Maybe it’s because if he does, there’s no doubt that he’ll die.

Impulsively, Stiles calls out Derek’s name. Derek ignores it, but Matt doesn’t. The grotesque transformation of a werewolf turns and stares at him. With Matt distracted now’s Derek’s chance to gain the upper hand. Even with the wound, Derek still moves faster than any human. He lunges at Matt, claws extended straight for Matt’s jugular.

Stiles doesn’t let himself see anymore after that. Still on his stomach, he drags himself under a car, putting some distance between him and everything that wants him dead. He can hear the sounds of Derek and Matt’s death match a few feet from him and thinks about Derek fighting for his life. Suddenly, the prospect of being under a car seems less comforting and more cowardly.

He curses himself for not taking his Adderall this morning. Maybe if he hadn’t skipped his dose then he wouldn’t be shaking like a leaf. The fight drags on and Stiles covers his hands over his ears to block out the noise. Stings of pain prick behind his eyelids and he’s hyper-aware of his own heart-beat thudding in his ears. He thinks he’s having a panic attack, and when he tries to control his breathing, it starts coming out in shallow gasps. The thought of having a panic attack only makes Stiles start to panic more and suddenly, he’s hyperventilating.

The crushing pressure on his chest only intensifies as Stiles tries to roll over and fold into himself. He has his eyes squeezed shut and it feels like the air is literally being sucked out of his lungs. A few more moments and he starts coughing.

The fight beyond the car quiets to a dull, eerie silence. Beyond that, the war on Beacon Hills sounds like a dull roar. The loud gasps of Stiles’ panic attack is all of a sudden very loud against the silence. Stiles is still struggling, fighting his way to the surface of his panic attack when Isaac drops down beside the car.

Isaac lays flat on his stomach, blocking the side where Matt and Derek are. “You can’t stay here! We have to go!” he reaches under the car and grabs the edge of Stiles’ sweatshirt.

Stiles squirms out of Isaac’s hold. His voice starts to break through his gasps, turning them to short cries. He rolls out from under the car on the side opposite of Isaac and curls into himself.

The lanky beta jumps up and runs over to the side Stiles is on and wrestles the distraught boy to his feet. Isaac clearly doesn’t know how to handle the situation of Stiles’ emotional break down because he shakes the teen and tells him, “Calm down!”

Stiles swats at him and starts to fall over. Isaac supports his weight by wrapping one arm around his waist and bringing Stiles’ other arm around his shoulders. It’s almost uncomfortable since Isaac is all gangly limbs and doesn’t know his own strength. “We need to get out of here. Everyone is dying,” he tugs Stiles along. “Please, I don’t know what to do. I can’t find Scott.” They make it one or two steps and Isaac is panting, “Damn it, Stiles use your fucking legs!”

Stiles gets his breathing under control long enough to stand properly; with Isaac’s help. He doesn’t know what Isaac just said to him but he can guess.

When they reach the other side of the car, Stiles immediately searches for Derek. Isaac must be doing the same thing because he says, “Oh my god.”

Stiles follows his gaze and sees Derek’s unmistakable figure, lying on the ground. His earlier emotions come rushing back and he lets his knees buckle under his weight. They aren’t close enough to tell if the Alpha is just hurt or if he’s dead.

Dead, like Allison and like his father. And for all Stiles knew, dead like Scott too.

 _No,_ is the word that shoots through Stiles’ mind a million miles an hour; like a broken record.

Isaac grunts in pain and tries to keep Stiles on his feet. This is way too much for him to handle. Merely ‘not knowing what to do’ is an understated, understatement on Isaac’s part. He has no clue how to handle somebody who is in the middle of an emotional crisis. He has no clue how to handle all the death around him, doesn’t know if he should cry seeing Derek on the ground. He cries anyway though, and strains his ears for any sign of a heart beat.

“Isaac,” Stiles pleads and regains his footing, “Isaac, Derek. Derek-,”

“I don’t know, God, I don’t know.”

Stiles’ breakdown reaches its peak when they bypass Derek’s body. Isaac doesn’t look because Isaac already knows. Sometimes Stiles forgets how young Derek is. He forgets how untrained and unprepared their Alpha really is. Maybe it’s because Derek puts up such a solid strong-front; an illusion where he seems whole and in control.

But looking at Derek now, Stiles sees the innocence and sin that’s carved in Derek’s angular face. Derek’s eyes are closed but Stiles sees the wear from years of guilt etched over his eyelids. He sees the sleepless nights in the stained skin of Derek’s parted lips and can tell; he’s tasted heaven and gone through hell.

His heart aches for the person Derek was, and the person he could’ve been. And all of a sudden, Stiles understands all of Derek’s pain and anger. He _needs_ Derek to be okay because, right now, Derek’s the only person who really knows what Stiles is feeling.

Stiles leans his weight on Isaac, “We need to help him, please.”

Isaac shakes his head, “I can’t hear his heart. It’s not beating. I don’t- I don’t know,” his voice breaks. “I, I uh, I think-he’s dead.”

This can’t be happening. Derek, the big bad and broody Alpha can’t be dead. This isn’t right. None of this makes any sense to Stiles. He wants to run to Derek, shake him until he opens his eyes, and yells at Stiles to leave him alone. Then he wants to bitch-slap Derek in the face and tell him that playing dead is cruel. In that moment, Stiles wants nothing more than to see Derek’s stupid scowl and hear his stupid voice, so that Stiles could let him know, he isn’t alone.

Everything is happening so fast, he doesn’t have time to mourn properly. His brain keeps him in shock. Shock is the only think keeping Stiles from completely collapsing. Behind them, something explodes. The force shatters windows and knocks them right off their feet.

Stiles opens his eyes and regrets it. He wishes that he had just stayed on the ground and played dead until the whole thing was over. The air on his skin feels like it’s made of acid. It’s gray and intoxicating. Stiles lays on his back, trying to remember how to breathe. His ears are ringing painfully and he can feel the warm blood run from his ear drums and down the sides of his face.

It’s startling, when Isaac yanks him from the ground, and it’s done so forcefully that Stiles doubles over and dry-heaves onto the pavement. Another explosion rattles the ground sending car alarms off, and splitting the ground open.

“Run!” Isaac yells and grabs Stiles’ sleeve.

They run through the streets. He really feels like giving up, but his head has gone into auto pilot. It’s as if his body isn’t his, like he’s not really there. So he keeps running.  Stiles’ lungs burn in his chest and his legs ache by the time they reach his beloved jeep. Isaac must’ve tracked the jeep by scent which isn’t surprising, since Stiles spends all hours in there chasing after his werewolf friends.

It takes his shaking hands three tries to shove the key in the ignition. They don’t have time for shaking hands though, so Isaac jumps out of the passenger side and makes Stiles switch places with him. Isaac definitely doesn’t have his license. Not that Stiles really cares.

Isaac doesn’t wait for Stiles to even close the car door before he peels out of the parking lot. All the debris and potholes that litter the road make it very hard to get anywhere. Isaac avoids a tree by driving up onto the sidewalk and through someone’s lawn.

Somehow they end up at the veterinary clinic and that’s when Stiles remembers what Isaac said about not being able to find Scott. His heart sinks down in his chest. “Why here?” is all he manages.

“I didn’t know where else to drive.” Isaac remembers the way from the times he had visited the clinic with Scott. Pushing Scott out of his mind, Isaac swallows the lump in his throat.

Both lacrosse players scream when a wolf Stiles recognizes as Jackson flies onto the hood of the car. Another wolf jumps onto Jackson and reels his fist back and brings it forward. Jackson barley evades the punch and the wolf’s fist breaks a hole in the Jeep’s windshield. Jackson roars at the lone beta on top of him. He throws a punch, but the other wolf has the upper hand and catches Jackson’s fist.

Stiles flinches when he hears Jackson’s bones snap. Isaac lets a low growl erupt from his throat. He throws the door open and moves to help Jackson.

Stiles stays in the car pressed up against the seat, gripping the side of the car to keep himself grounded. His palms are clammy, and his back muscles scream with tension.  He darts out of the car, leaves the door open, and runs into the clinic.

“Dr. Deaton!” he runs straight to the back room where Deaton is standing at the metal surgical table.

He holds a tube in his hands that’s filled with green liquid. “Stiles,” he looks up and gawks at the state Stiles is in.

The vet moves to check Stiles’ wounds. Stiles easily shoves him away, past the point of gentle. “No, everyone is dead. You don’t get it. It’s hell out there. I don’t know what to do.”

“Stiles,” Deaton starts.

“Don’t, you have to help me. We have to do something. I can’t, I can’t- everyone’s dying.” Stiles starts to stumble on his words. “My dad, oh God, my dad. They got him too and,” he stutters, “the fire has probably reached his body by now-,”

Deaton cuts Stiles off by shaking him until he stops talking, “There might be a way to fix this.”

“How?!”                                                                                      

Deaton walks across the room, reaches into a safe, and pulls out a gun. “When I was younger, my mentor taught me this trick. I had one prepared in case of dire emergency. I’ve never tried it before-,”

“Whatever you’re going to do, just do it!”

The look in his eyes is focused but he’s slowly loosing composure, “Stiles, you don’t understand. We only have one shot at this. The shot won’t kill you,” he waves the gun around, “It’ll just send you back in time, six years to be exact. It’ll give you enough time to try and prevent the Hale fire. Maybe if you can prevent the fire Matt won’t-,”

“Yes! Okay, let’s do it. Just do it!” Stiles waves his hands in front of his face. So many things rush through his mind. The main thought is his father and how he’d give anything, do anything, to bring him back. And Derek stays in his mind too. Nothing specific, just his name.

“Stiles, it’s just a prototype though,” Deaton warns.

“I don’t care,” Stiles grabs Deaton’s arms, “We’re losing. Just shoot me!”

The color of the gun is white, but other than that, it looks like a regular old hand gun to Stiles. Unsettlingly, there’s silver duct tape holding the clip in. Deaton’s finger rests on the trigger, “Everyone who needs to be there will be, when you wake up. But Stiles, there’s some things you should know about time travel. It’s very tricky-,”

But Stiles doesn’t wait for him to finish. The sound of Isaac yelling Jackson’s name from outside wills him to grab Deaton’s hand and pull back on the trigger.

He hits the ground, then blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you like it...  
> Or should I stop before I'm kicked out of the fandom?


	3. In The Wake of Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well this is unexpected.

The sun is already high in the sky when Stiles wakes up. The cool air creeps in through the open windows and chills the ground. He rolls over and moans, pressing his cheek into the ground. The concrete feels good against his hot skin and sends shivers down his shoulders all the way to his toes. The feeling isn’t unwelcome but it’s not the most comfortable for sleeping.

Stiles opens his eyes and moves around a little but he doesn’t get very far because he can’t even reach over his head. His muscles are exhausted from over excursion and he’s trying to ride out the ache in his bones when Isaac literally rolls on top of him. Isaac’s boney shoulder digs painfully into Stiles’ ribcage and he yelps in surprise and shoves Isaac off.

Isaac’s eyes shoot open from the sudden jolt and he’s upright in a flash, his claws extended. “Where,” he says breathlessly. “What the actual fuck? Are we in the abandoned subway station?” The old railway cart is in the same place Isaac’s always remembered it in. It still has some paint left on it and all evidence of the supernatural rumble that went down on his first full moon is gone. Isaac has blood on his chin and clothes and his blonde hair has bits of dirt in it but other than that he looks perfectly sound. All his wounds are healed.

“I don’t know. You’d know what the station looks better than I would. You’re the one who lives in Derek’s little pack cave after all.” Stiles groans and uses his elbows to support his upper body.

“I don’t understand. Why are we here?”

“It’s a long story, but-,”

Startled, Isaac interjects, “Scott!” He leaps up and rushes over to the old tracks.

Stiles watches Isaac jump down onto the tracks and disappear. He wonders if he should follow but then decides against it and stays on the floor. When Isaac reappears, he’s holding Scott up with one arm and trying to balance with the other. He places Scott on the ground next to Stiles.

Scott wakes up very slowly, like something coming to life again. First, Stiles notices Scotts fingers move; Next, his lips; finally, his eyes open. He doesn’t say anything once he’s awake. He just stares at the ceiling with a blank and sad expression on his face.

“Jackson?!” Lydia’s voice echoes loudly through the station. Isaac jumps at the sudden noise and looks around startled. Lydia’s calls out for Jackson again. This time her voice is much closer. Stiles and Isaac listen for Jackson’s response and when they don’t get one, Stiles calls out to her, instead. Lydia is about to run past the boys when she spots them and has to do a double take. “Where the hell are we!?” she pants.

“If we’re not dreaming, then we’re in the past.”

Lydia’s eyes go wide, “What do you mean, _the past?_ ”

Scott sits upright at this newfound information and stares at Stiles like he has six heads.

The ex-Kanima emerges from the stairs seconds later. “What the hell happened, where are we?!” he demands.

“Jackson!” Lydia breathes a sigh of relief and wraps her arms around him.

“Wait, wait,” Isaac starts, “We’re in the past?”

“Yeah, if Deaton did it right then we should be six years into the past. But knowing our luck we’re not even in the same continent as Beacon Hills.”

“That’s impossible, Stiles,” he repeats the ‘impossible’ part before adding, “And that’s saying something, coming from me. Since you know, I’m a fictional beast.”

“Believe me Isaac, I know, but we’re getting a second chance. If we stop the Hale fire-,”

“What does the Hale fire have anything to do with this?” Jackson scratches his chin and Stiles notices all of the wolves are healed leaving him and Lydia looking the worst.

“I don’t know but, long story short, if we stop the Hale fire then Matt won’t grow up to be the spawn of Satan.”

Lydia purses her gloss-free lips, “Why don’t we kill him?”

“We tried!” Stiles snaps and immediately regrets it. “In case you haven’t noticed, nothing around here tends to stay dead.”

“So,” Scott whispers, “We’re getting a second chance?”

Stiles clenches his jaw, “Do I sound like a broken record to you?”

Scott’s eyes brighten for a second, “Then we can save Allison and the Sheriff!”

Despite the free do-over card, Stiles doesn’t feel very chipper. Even though they’re getting the chance to get things right, he still has to live with the memories of his father lying in a pool of blood, his best friend holding his dead girlfriend, and Derek dying for him. Hopefully, once everything is set right, the memories will just become distant dreams. Like a nightmare from Stiles’ past.

“Wait, what happened to Allison!?” Lydia grips Jackson’s arm. “Jackson, what happened to Allison?!”

Unable to answer her, Jackson looks at the ground. “I don’t know.”

Stiles’ throat closes in, “She was killed in the battle.”

Lydia’s eyes start to water, “How could this happen…”

Stiles looks away from her since he’s moments away from losing what little composure he has left. A crying Lydia will definitely push him over the edge. He clears his throat and speaks over Lydia’s quiet sobs, “If we’re going to do this, then we have to hold our shit together. I don’t know how long we have, but we can’t get side tracked.”

Isaac puts his hands in his pocket and his thumb brushes a piece of paper. He frowns and takes it out, “What is this…?” he mutters.

“Let me see,” Stiles holds his hand out and waits for Isaac to hand over the paper.

**_‘I only had time to enroll you in school. You’ll have to take care of the rest. –D’_ **

“What the fuck is that suppose to mean?!” Jackson snaps, ripping the note from Stiles’ aching palms.

“Ow, paper cut.”

Lydia sighs and takes the note from Jackson’s hands, “How could he have enrolled us in school. Isn’t that directly altering the past? He can’t do that.”

Stiles nods, “I honestly don’t understand my life anymore.”

“I told you he’s a witch,” is all Isaac says before he turns and starts walking towards the stairs.

Stiles calls out to him, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“We should eat.”

Right on cue, Stiles’ stomach grumbles and he realizes that he is also hungry. “Well,” he looks down at himself, “Jackson, do you have any of your credit cards on you?”

Jackson takes a moment to feel around his pockets. He pulls out a leather wallet and peers inside, “Why?”

Stiles gestures wildly to his torn clothes, “We can’t go in public like this.”

Jackson nods and adds, “But I don’t know if they’ll work here…”

On their way out, Scott corners Stiles and embraces him. “I’m sorry,” is all the teen says.

Stiles can’t handle Scott’s emotions oozing all over him. Though he appreciates the attempt at closure, he has to stay strong and power through this nightmare. Scott holds on until he feels Stiles hug him back.

Sheriff Stilinksi was the closest to a father that Scott ever had. Scott’s aching just as bad as Stiles. When Scott and Stiles were younger and the flu season came, the likely hood of them getting one another sick was inevitable. His mother would have to go to work so she would leave Scott in the Sheriff’s care. Scott remembers it was Sheriff Stilinski who gave him and Stiles chicken soup and read them comic books until they passed out. Stiles’ father was even the man who gave Scott him ‘the talk’ when he grew older.

But, he’s gone now and Scott feels sick just thinking about the memories. He doesn’t have to ask Stiles in order to know the huge chunk of emptiness that now sits in his soul. Scott keeps his arm slung across Stiles’ shoulders until they emerge onto the street.

***

It turns out that all of Jackson’s credit cards decline except for one. Stiles shuts himself in the bathroom of the small store and replaces his once-gray, but now grossly brown and red, tee shirt with a blue one. “God, this hurts,” he hisses when the cotton touches the raw gashes on his neck. Stiles sighs, holding the shirt over his shoulders, afraid to touch the cuts.

Without knocking, Lydia opens the door and crowds in. “You look horrible,” she decides after taking one glance at him.

“Hi to you, too.”

Lydia holds up a roll of masking tape, “I got this at the front desk,” and a roll of cheap toilet paper, “and this from the boys room.”

Stiles doesn’t really know how to respond, considering every fantasy he’s ever had involving Lydia and enclosed spaces doesn’t involve masking tape or toilet paper. But then again, life hasn’t been very gracious to him in past years. Why would it start now? He just settles on, “Congratulations?”

Lydia groans, “I honestly don’t know what you boys would do if it weren’t for me.” She rips a long piece of tape off and unravels the toilet paper.

Stiles lets her pad the wounds on his neck and shoulder. “This tape is utter shit,” he complains.

Lydia, who has been trying to rip the tape roll from the piece that’s wrapped around Stiles’ torso in place, just ignores him. “The more you talk to me, the more I’ll mess up.”

“Here, just let me do it,” Stiles grabs the tape and hisses when the piece snags onto one of his cuts.

Once Stiles is all bandaged, Lydia throws his shirt at him and turns and leaves. She comes back moments later though. This time she has a wet paper towel in her hands.

“How do you look so perfect?” Stiles asks.

She begins wiping the dried blood off Stiles’ chin, “Oh, hush. Have you looked at me recently?” She laughs. Lydia’s strawberry blonde curls are tied up and her mascara is smudged. Her dress is stained and torn at the hem and she has scrapes on both her knees, but other than that, Stiles thinks she looks perfect. She still has her jade eyes and brilliant smile. “Besides,” she says, “I’m not the one you want.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles catches the pair of jeans she throws his way.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at Derek.”

“Derek?”

Lydia rests her hand on the door knob, “Yes, Derek. I see the way you look at him. It took me a while to figure out you liked him but once I did, things started making more sense. Of course, I had to do some research on pack dynamics, but…”

“I don’t like Derek,” Stiles yanks the pants on.

“Stiles, I don’t care if you’re gay. I really, could care less. You’re still Stiles. My point is, you like Derek so stop pining after me.”

“And do what? Pine after him?”

Lydia shakes her head, “No, you win him over… which shouldn’t be too hard considering he has a thing for you too.”

“How do you know?” Stiles makes a mental note to never forget how observant Lydia is.

“I just know. Now come on, I’m starving.”

“Wait,” Stiles grabs her hand just before she’s out the door. “Even if I did have a thing for Derek, which I don’t. It doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t matter?”

“The whole, Derek thing. It doesn’t matter since he’s… you know, dead.”

Lydia takes a step towards Stiles, “That’s why we’re here. To bring him back.”

Stiles nods and lets her gather the tape and toilet paper and quietly shut the bathroom door behind her.

Damn Lydia for being so right. He’s pulling on his shoes when he realizes the more he thinks about Derek the more he longs to see him. Stiles isn’t going to say he’s gay, but he isn’t going to say he’s straight either. He doesn’t really want to define his sexuality, not now at least.

But there’s been this undeniable attraction to Derek from day one that Stiles hasn’t been able to shake off. Besides the obvious lycan blood, Derek was different from any other guy Stiles has ever met. Derek always stuck out in his mind; that odd thought that just didn’t clash with the rest of his chaotic brain. Still, there is no way Stiles likes Derek Hale of all people. He and Derek are complete opposites and it would never work.

***

“Okay,” Stiles waves his finger in front of the group of teenagers, “The number one rule of time travel is never, ever,” he repeats the last words for emphasis.

“-Die.” Isaac interjects.

Jackson’s barks out a laugh, “Die? Are you being serious right now?”

Stiles pushes the door to the small café open. A bell, signaling their arrival, rings above them. “Other than the obvious,” he refers back to Isaac’s, don’t-die-whilst-time-jumping, rule, “You’re not suppose to interact with yourself. Like, ever.”

“What if we do by accident?” Scott bites the corner of his sweatshirt. “Like, what if I see myself and casually mention my allergy to mushrooms. Think of the conflict I can avoid.”

“Dude, no. I refuse to let you’re mushroom allergy be the reason the space-time continuum gets screwed over.” They head over to a booth tucked in the corner of the diner. Lydia and Jackson sit in one side and Scott and Stiles sit in the other. Isaac just stands at the foot of the booth and rubs his too-long shirt sleeve over his chin. “Do you want to sit down?” Stiles slowly questions.

“Uh,” Isaac looks from Jackson’s side to Stiles’ side, “Can I sit next to Scott?”

Stiles’ eyebrows slowly creep to his hairline. Regardless of the odd request, he stands up and lets Isaac smoosh in next to Scott. As Stiles sits back down, he sees Scott glance quickly at Isaac and give him a slight meaningless smile, before his eyes return to the menu.

The five friends are looking through the menu when the waiter comes. “Hi,” he says, “Welcome to the Half Moon Café. My name is Derek and I’ll be your waiter.”

Stiles looks up and is immediately floored by the teenage version of the brooding sour wolf. His brain bathes in the irony of the situation before pulling Stiles back into the real world. “Uh, hi.”

Wow, that is not what he planned to say.

“Hi,” Lydia pipes from the inner corner of the booth, “Sorry, we’re being a little slow.”

Derek shakes his head, “It’s no big deal.” His hair is in its signature up do, but it’s longer and more un-kept, sort of like tousled bed-head.

“You see, we just moved in from out of town. So, we don’t know our way around yet.”

At this point, they’re all staring at Derek. Stiles feels a pang of pain shoot up his shins and realizes it’s from Lydia kicking him under the table.

“Where did you move in from?” Derek scratches the very light stubble under the corner of his jaw.

Stiles notices his eyes are brighter, a light hazy color green with a ring of brown around the pupil and outer edge. It’s an eye condition where a person has more than one color in the iris of their eye. It’s called, “Heterochromia,” he mutters before he realizes he’s spoken out loud.

“Hm?” Derek muses.

“Oh uh,” Stiles glances quickly at Lydia, hoping she’ll think of some way to save him. “Your eyes,” he talks with his hands, “They’re heterochromatic. It’s a-a science term.”

Lydia lightly whacks her forehead with the palm of her hand, “Why do I even try?”

Derek huffs a laugh, “Well, if this is your way of telling me I have pretty eyes then you could’ve just said so.” He smiles and for a second, Stiles is internally thrown off balance. His radar picks up a whole lot of, ‘I’m a challenge and a half, and a huge tease’ coming from this teenage Derek.

Stiles doesn’t know how to flirt, so he just laughs lamely. “We’re from New York.”

“Then this small-ass town must be a big change for you guys.”

Stiles has never heard Derek swear either; it’s weird and foreign.

“Yeah it is,” Isaac sort of rocks back and forth for a second before resting his long arms on the table and playing with his fork, “So, you’re like, in… high school right?”

Derek’s posture relaxes. He runs his hand through his gelled black hair, “How’d you guess?”

Isaac shrugs and runs his finger tips along the prongs of the silver fork, “You look like a high school kid.”

Derek purses his lips, “Fair enough. Are you all in high school too?”

“Yeah, actually. We’re seniors.” Jackson puts the menu on the table. “We’re going to the local high school actually.”

“I go there. It’s a pretty mediocre place. So, do you guys need more time to mull over what you’re going to get?”

Stiles looks around the table. Everyone seems to have made up their minds. He starts with, “I want the biggest stack of pancakes. I will eat them, and be content. Death by pancake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a little choppy right now.  
> Things will fall into place soon.


	4. What Just Happened?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of them had the fucking cutest nose, Derek thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITALICS = THOUGHTS

“Holy shit!” Stiles’s thoughts are going a million miles an hour and he blames it on the lack of Adderall in his system. “That was Derek! Did you see him?! Like,” he waves his hands in front of his face, “Like, what even is life?!” He calms his nerves and takes a deep breath, closing the cafe door behind him, “Did that really just happen?”

The conversation during lunch was kept light by avoiding any mention of wolves and death. Scott ate in little bits and he wouldn’t have eaten at all if Isaac hadn’t leaned over and said, “You can’t save Allison on an empty stomach.”

“I’m not that hungry, though.” Scott replied.

“Just eat the food, McCall.” Jackson rolled his eyes, “Don’t make me waste my money.”

Now that he thought about it, Stiles hadn’t felt like eating either, but the stack of pancakes he had ordered on impulse stared at him accusingly. If Stiles had to pick one lesson from his childhood that his father made sure to sear into his brain it would be, never take more than you need. Too bad that’s exactly what he had done.

Isaac hooks his thumbs through his belt loops as he walks along, “Derek’s so different. It’s almost hard to believe he grew up to be the grouchy wolf we know.”

The Autumn air is cool below the bright sun and cloudless sky. When the wind blows it carries a low whisper through the streets.

“In a manner of speaking, they’re not the same person.” Lydia shoulders Stiles to the middle of the sidewalk to avoid walking into a trashcan.

Isaac doesn’t really care, “Yeah, you’re right.”

Theres no malice in her voice when she says, “I’m always right,” and flashes him a warm smile.

Jackson throws the lunch bill in the nearest trashcan and scowls, “According to this, it’s October. That means it’ll be getting cold soon so how about we figure out where we’re going to stay until this whole thing is done with.”

Stiles stops walking and turns around, “The subway,” he says like it’s the most obvious and reasonable thing in the world. He pauses again when nobody backs him up on the notion, “Right? I mean, no one goes down there. We’ll be virtually dead to the world.”

The blonde raises his polished eyebrows in silent disagreement, “And what are we going to do about showers and getting to school? Oh,” he clenches his jaw, “and the cold?”

Siles, fluent in awkward nonchalant retorts, “We’ll just have to cuddle then.”

“On the floor, for God only knows, how long?”

“What? Afraid of cooties, Jackson?” Stiles drops his arms down by his sides dramatically and begins walking. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” _Unless you want me too,_  he adds silently to himself purely because the pancakes put him in a sassy mood.

“And let me guess, Stilinski, we bathe in the creek and eat road kill?”

 

Fed up with Jackson’s mocking, “Well then, do you have any better ideas?!” _Jackass._

Lydia saunters past the boys and glances back at them, “How about we go to Deaton’s place? He’s the one who got us into this mess.”

“Go to Deaton’s and say what?”

“The truth, duh,” Lydia deadpans.

Stiles doesn’t think going to Deaton’s place is the smartest idea. If it were up to him, they’d haul their asses back to the subway and deal with living like hobos until they get back to their own time.

Scott isn’t going to take the initiative on this one, deciding nothing is worth going up against Lydia for. Isaac doesn’t really do anything either, his attention stays fixated on a small cat coming out of an alley way. Even as the group passes the scraggly looking stray,  Isaac doesn’t look away.

Eventually, Jackson caves in to his girlfriends idea of going to the vets and Stiles throws his hands in the air exasperatedly. As he walks he wonders if anybody will recognize him and the thought kind of freaks him out so he throws the hood of his sweatshirt onto his head. The fabric feels soft against his peach-fuzz hair cut and the coverage gives leeway to his paranoia.

“Theres one thing I don’t understand though,” Isaac rips his gaze away from the cat and focuses back on the ground in front of him.

A leaf falls from a nearby tree, right into Scott’s peripheral view. Thinking the leaf is some giant object falling from the heavens to crush him, Scott violently flinches away from it. He looks around quickly to see if anybody saw him and blushes when Stiles meet his gaze. “What?” he says a moment later, regaining his composure.

In case the question was directed at him, Stiles shrugs and shakes his head.

Scott dismisses Stiles and repeats his question to Isaac, “What?”

“Why didn’t Derek sense we were werewolves?” Isaac makes a good enough point to stop Stiles dead in his tracks.

Jackson turns around and frowns, deep lines of curiosity on his brow, “Maybe he isn’t that great of a werewolf?”

Jackson’s slowly been making progress with the pack. After the whole Kanima incident he started being a nicer person. Stiles thinks that almost dying, realizing how in love with Lydia he is, and finding closure in knowing she loved him back, has made Jackson less of a bitter person.

“Maybe he didn’t notice?” Lydia doesn’t bother looking back and lets her voice go with the wind.

Isaac looks at the strawberry blonde, “No, he definitely noticed. Scott wreaks of werewolf.”

She rolls her eyes, “Well, I wouldn’t know, now would I? Besides, it doesn’t matter for now and as long as Derek doesn’t start anything, we should be fine.”

Lydia’s changed too, ever since she was bitten by Peter. Stiles has seen emotions from her that he never thought he would. He had seen her cry over Jackson and have a mental breakdown in class but worst of all, he’d seen the way she hid her fear from everybody. Stiles gets lost in his thoughts and before he knows it, they’ve arrived at the clinic.

The conversation with Deaton goes a lot smoother in his head. On the walk, Stiles plans out exactly what he is going to say to the animal doctor and how he is going to say it. Fate has another plan though, so by the time he actually arrives at the clinic, he’s forgotten most of his prize winning speech.

What he tells Deaton goes like this, “Hi, my name is Stiles and I’m- we’re,” he gestures wildly to his friends, “from the future.”

Deaton sort of squints at them. It’s a look Stiles has received from his father on many recent occasions that he thinks means something along the lines of ‘I swear, you’re on crack.’

_I’m not on crack,_ Stiles tries to convey this message through the seriousness of his expression as he stares into Deaton’s eyes.

The vet is both surprised, amused, and a little creeped out. Wait,” Deaton looks at the kids in front of him, “Let me get this straight. You,” he waves his hands in front of him, “are from the future?”

_Oh my god, do I sound like a broken record?_ Stiles nods vigorously. “Long story short Doc, in the future, the world shit the bed and you gave me a second chance to go and prevent mass murder and death by shooting me back into the past, literally.”

Deaton’s puzzled face scrunches in suspicion, “Get out.”

“No, wait,” Scott steps forward besides Stiles. “Jackson, Isaac, and I are werewolves and we need your help.”

“You’re werewolves?”

“Well,” the brown haired beta looks back and forth from Stiles to Lydia, “Stiles and Lydia aren’t wolves.”

Deaton looks a little shocked, “But, they know about you?”

“It’s a long story that we don’t have time for!”

Stiles groans, “Yeah Doc, trust me when I say, some things are better left unsaid. Lizard people, hunters, psychopathic murderers, crazy grandfathers,” Stiles moves while he talks, going silent before adding, “...the undead.”

“Why should I trust you? You could be a foregin pack disguising-,”

“No, okay no. Just, stop,” Scott shakes his head. “We need you to trust us on this. I’ve been working for you for two years. I know that you keep a creepy cat lover award stowed away in the freezer and how you have a cat named Cooke that likes to eat human food and shower with you. Just believe us when we say we’re from the future,” Scott almost pleads. “...and I thought being a teenager was hard enough,” he scoffs, “then I became a werewolf and everything just became harder, but, nothing could’ve prepared me for how hard it would be to watch the people I love the most die.”

Stiles looks at his friend, _Am I the only one who doesn’t understand what you just said..._

Isaac leans his hip against the wall, “We have nowhere else to go.”

Deaton is caught on the fine line between trusting and not. He stares at Scott for a drawn out moment, surprised by his sudden outburst before walking to the front of the store and locking the door, “Why don’t you all sit down. It seems like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

In the awkward silence that follows the pack settling into the waiting room, Stiles notices that Deaton isn’t much physically different now than he is in the future.

“You’re the sheriff’s son Stiles, right?” Deaton’s naked head shines under the overhead lights.

Stiles nods, “Yeah, but I know i’m not allowed to see him,” he adds quickly, “since he may recognize me and that would cause more than enough issues.”

Deaton hums in understanding, “It’s kind of ironic that you show up today.”

“Why’s that?”

“I visited your mother in the hospital yesterday, actually. She’s still lovely as ever.” His eyes hold a fondness in them.

Stiles digs his nails into the fabric of his own jeans.

Scott, who is squished up next to Stiles knocks the tips of his pointer and middle fingers against the side of Stiles’ knee.  If Isaac, Jackson, and Lydia weren’t in the room, Scott would’ve grabbed Stiles’ fingertips quickly, before letting go.

He wants Stiles to know that he’s standing right beside him. Scott knows he hasn’t been the best friend a guy could ask for during the past year. Hell, he’s been a more shitty friend than he’s willing to admit but due to recent events, Scott’s vision has broadened.

Stiles has always been the one unchanging thing in his life. Scott could always count on him to be there when things got rough. So seeing Stiles now, hurt, broken, and desperate to fix things, kick starts Scott’s protective instincts. With his fingertips, he tries to convey the words he can’t fit into actual sentences.

He’s ready to be Stiles’ unchangeable force and stand by him until the end, because thats what bestfriends do.

At the mention of his mom, Stiles remembers things he’d thought he had forgotten. The smell of her perfume and how it would waft around him when she cradled him in her arms, how her earrings were his favorite thing to play with. He remembers her hospital room and how he was too small to even see over the side of the bed, and the sound of her voice calling his name. And Stiles remembers his confusion when she was diagnosed and his heartache when she was gone.

“My mom?” his voice cracks. Stiles blinks away the tears threatening to spill and forces himself not to think about her. His eyes move quickly to Scott’s fingers, not knowing what the touch means but being grateful it’s there.

“Yes,” is the vet’s only response.

“What happened?” Isaac asks from the other side of the couch.

Stiles clears his throat, “She’s sick. She, a-um, she has cancer.” _Oh shit, I shouldn’t have said that. Now i’m going to cry. Great, okay, don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it. Oh fuck._

Lydia rubs the muscles on Stiles’ shoulders briefly and Deaton watches the interaction, taking it all in, but never taking his eyes off Stiles.

“So, Stiles,” he says, “I gave you a second chance to do things right. The question still remains though,” he sits back in the chair, “what are you going to do?”

Stiles shakes his head and wipes his nose trying not to lose it completely, “I don’t know. Get closer to Derek?”

“Derek Hale?” Deaton perks up at this.

“It’ll be easier if we don’t tell you.” Stiles steers his way out of conflict easily, “You’ll be confused, trust me. We just need to get closer to him.”

Under the pale lighting Deaton’s expression sobers, “You’re not planning on hurting him right?”

“No, why, do you know him?”

“I know of him,” he puts emphasis on the ‘of’.

‘“Of?”, Stiles repeats

Deaton leans forward and crosses his fingers together, “lets just say, I’m a friend of the family. I promised his mother I’d look out for him.”

Stiles makes a face where he squints one eye and raises the opposite eyebrow, “He doesn’t know you though?”

“Not on any sort of personal level,” he confirms.

Stiles approves of the answer given and silently decides that this conversation topic is pointless to push any further.

Scott cuts the silence with, “We just need somewhere to stay.”

“and shower.” Jackson adds. He’s standing next to Lydia, his shoulders relaxed.

The vet picks at the frayed ends of the armchair and says, “For how long?”

The group mulls the question over in silence.

“Two months at least.”

“Well,” Deaton starts, “you can’t stay at my house so you’ll have to stay here. Theres a shower where we bathe the bigger dogs in the back room so you can shower there.” He pauses, “as for food, i’ll see what I can do.”

Stiles looks out the window and is surprised by how much the sun has gone down. They spent the whole day talking. “What about school?” he says, not taking his eyes off the window.

“Derek Hale is a junior so i’m guessing thats the grade you’ll be placed in as well. You should all probably get cleaned up though.” Deaton stands and the pack follows in suit. “If the fate of the world as we know it, is in as much jeopardy as you teenagers claim,” he smirks, “then accommodations shouldn’t be a problem.”

><><>< EARLIER THAT DAY

_Holy Shit,_ Derek thinks as he watches the teens leave the café. _What just happened?_  The scent of the three betas lingers in the morning air, unmistakably werewolf to Derek’s trained nose.

He brings an older couple their drinks, placing the glasses on the table with ease, “Do you need anything else?” he asks before he is pulled back into his own thoughts. _I wonder if mom and dad know?_

 Unable to focus on anything else, the day passes in a blur. Derek’s lost in his own thoughts and doesn’t really care about his job enough to pull himself back to reality. Plates balance in his hands as he clears a table. _Such strange wolves waltzing into our territory. They don’t seem to be attached to a pack._

The day drags on, _I wonder if they picked up that I am a werewolf._

Derek stays stone faced when he thinks these things, _They didn’t seem like they knew._  Then he thinks back to Lydia and Stiles, _I wonder if they know about werewolves._

More tables, more orders, more bussing, and when he looks at the clock, his shift is only half over. He groans, wishing the ticking wasn’t so obnoxiously obvious in his ears. _I have to tell mom and dad about the new wolves._

“Hello, my name is Derek and I’ll be your waiter,” he places the menus down, only giving half his attention.

_They didn’t seem threatening_ , he goes back to his earlier thought, _They’re definitely not born werewolves._ As he finishes the table, Derek goes over each one internally to himself, _If anything they’re all still puppies._

Derek sweeps through rush hour now too distracted by his job to linger on the matter any longer.

…

_Twenty minutes left,_ he looks at the clock.

…

_Ten minutes left..._

_..._

A hand claps down on Derek’s shoulder, “Whats up dude?”

“Camden,” Derek spins around and takes in the sight of his best friend wearing his school issued letterman jacket with the Beacon Hills Swim Team insignia on the breast and the letters, “LAHEY” embroidered across the back of his shoulder blades.

Camden throws his work uniform over his left shoulder, “You seem anxious.”

Derek shrugs, “I just want to get out of here,” he sighs.

“Ha,” Camden rolls his eyes, “You’re telllin’ me. Look at it this way, your shift is almost over. I’m here until ten.”

Derek leans against the wall, “Tough break.”

The older Lahey shrugs and rolls his eyes, “So, Kara and a group of us are going to see a movie on Friday after the swim meet. You in?”

“Depends on who else is going.” Derek glances out into the café, deciding if it was the right time to approach his tables and offer assistance.

“All of our friends. Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.”

Derek looks unamused, “All our friends as in... all of them, or just a few of them?”

“Dude,” Camden looks incredulously at his best friend, “Sean and his girl Jessica, Bennett, Kara, and Tucker if he isn’t working in the shop.”

“Tucker got his job back?”

“Yeah, that stupid grease monkey got off with a warning.” Camden shakes his head, “The next time he overcharges a customer for car parts they don’t need, he’ll definitely be fired.”

Derek scoffs, “I’m surprised he isn’t already fired.”

“Some people just have all the luck.”

Derek takes off his apron and finishes clocking out, “Too bad we’re not talking about me, here.”

Camden laughs, “Same. I could use a little luck. Things are getting rough at home,” he looks at the clock, “I’ll text you about it later though.”

Derek nods and then leaves.

He spots his sister’s silver car parked on the curb the moment he gets outside. He throws his stuff in the back seat and throws the passenger side door open with a little more force than necessary.

“Hey,” Laura says, her hand on the gear shift.

“Hey,” he says back.

They pull off the curb with ease and Derek contemplates telling her about the possible threat.

“We have to pick Matt up from his friends house.”

“Okay,” and after a moment of silence, “Did mom or dad ever say anything about a new pack in Beacon Hills?”

Laura frowns, “I don’t think so, why?”

“This group of werewolves came into the cafe today.”

“Really?!” her frown deepens.

“They were just kids though,” Derek tries to calm her nerves, “if anything they were my age. They didn’t even seem to notice that I was a werewolf.”

Laura takes a sharp turn, “I wonder why they’re here. Mom and dad will flip out if a new pack is sneaking in.”

“What do you think is going to happen?”

“I heard the last group of omegas were slaughtered by hunters,” even though Laura is just teasing, Derek finds some truth in her words.

“But, they don’t seem harmful.” Derek stresses the ‘seem’.

Laura shrugs and merges onto the highway, “That’s not your call. Did you talk to them at all?”

Derek’s sufficient answer is, “I served them.”

Laura changes the radio station, “Care to elaborate my dear brother?”

The anticipation about telling their parents has made Derek antsy, “They said that they’re going to our high school.” He leaves out the comment made about his bi-colored eyes.

“Were any of them cute?” She winks.

_One of them had the fucking cutest nose._ Derek swings his vision from the window to his sister, “Really, Laura?”

She snickers, “Don’t be such a sour puss, Dee.”

“I’m not being a sour anything- Where are we going?”

“No, no, don’t try to change the subject! Were any of them cute?” Laura laughs and her dimples appear.

“Not really. They weren’t a bad looking group though.”

“All girls?”

“No, four boys and one girl.”

The rest of the car ride is spent with Laura poking and prodding her brother about his, ahem, personal interests (so did any of them catch your eye? Oh wait, I keep forgetting that you only like girls, right?) this earns an eyeroll from Derek.

The car pulls in the driveway and Matt is already waiting at the front door. Derek doesn’t recognize the mother standing behind him nor does he recognize Matt’s friend. _Must be a new one._

Matt jumps in the back seat and as they pull away Laura waves goodbye to the mother at the door.

“Hi Laura, hi Deedee.” Matt greets.

Derek’s given up on correcting his brother that his name is Derek not Deedee. He doesn’t even remember when Matt had started calling him the funky nickname. It’s whatever though, since adults find it cute and it makes him look like less of a delinquent when he has a little brother that calls him stupid nicknames.

Matt pulls out a piece of paper from his red backpack and hands it to Derek, “Look what I made.”

On the paper is a macaroni dog. At least, Derek thinks it’s a dog. The torso is made from three barrel shaped pieces, the legs are angel hairs, the neck is a mini bow-tie, the face is two macaroni noodles that form an oval, and the ears and tail are made from broken semi-circle barrel noodles.

“This is awesome, Matt.” Derek shows the artwork to his sister who gives similar praise.

In the backseat, Matt beams with accomplishment.

Fifteen minutes later the three siblings finally arrive at their home. Derek notices the extra cars in the drive and asks Laura about it.

“Uncle Peter and Aunt Jen are visiting,” she says.

As bad as Derek wants to inform his mother about the omegas, he has to wait until Matt is finished showing her his macaroni dog and out of earshot. Since Matt is only ten he’s kept in the dark about most wolf related issues.

What’s more is he’s not even a werewolf. Strangely enough since both Laura and Derek are born werewolves. If he overheard Derek talking to their mother about werecreature activity then he would ask questions which would lead to confusion and misunderstanding.

The last thing the Hale family needs is a repeat of what happened last month where Matt overheard Derek’s dad giving him ‘The Talk: Werewolf style’. In a nutshell, his father told him about the werewolf heat cycle and how he’s going to want to bang anything with a pulse. _Not that I don’t already,_ he had snickered quietly to himself.

Matt’s teacher had assigned the kids in her class to do a drawing of what they wanted to be when they grew up. Matt’s picture said, “When I grow up, I want to be like Deedee” equipped with a colorful illustration of a stick figure Derek with a dog body on top of another stick figure with boobs and no face.

When Matt leaves the kitchen, Derek tells his parents about the omegas.

“Keep a close eye on them at school. They might be in some of your classes.”

Derek nods.

Laura spins on the barstool at the island, “Don’t get distracted by any of them, okay? You never know what stray wolves are planning. They’ll probably think you’re just a pretty face and will try to infiltrate our pack by using you.”

Derek frowns at her. Times like this, Laura reminded him of their mother. Same chestnut hair and high cheekbones and naturally assertive and witty. “Don’t worry,” he grits out.

Later that night he’s walking towards the bathroom when something catches his eye. A new picture, mounted at eye level and surrounded by a cherry wood frame. It’s their family picture from last year. Derek stops in his tracks and just stares at it.

“You really are the black sheep in the family.” his aunt rests her hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

Derek shrugs because she is right. While Laura and Matt both carry after their mother, Derek doesn’t carry after either of his parents. He can see a little bit of his fathers jawline in him but not his father’s blonde hair or blue eyes. Frankly, Derek doesn’t know where his powder black hair, pale skin, and lean frame came from.

“You have your uncle Peter’s eyes,” Jen moves a stray hair from Derek’s eyes and rests her chin on his shoulder.

“I guess.”

She moves off him and stands against the wall, “Your grandfather had dark, dark, hair like yours, Derek.” To him, she sounds like she’s trying to help him justify why he looks so out of place.

He doesn’t really know what to say so he just gives a mediocre reply and wiggles his way out of the situation. He peeks into Matt’s room to find the toddler playing with legos and then heads towards the bathroom. _I’m so tired and I need to pee. Aw shit, I didn’t do my Physics homework either._


	5. Derek's Friends Are Dicks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thoughts are in italics. Sorry for the late update, the hurricane put me out of commission for a while.

ISAAC

Organelles.

They’re watching a video about organelles when Isaac walks into class. He doesn’t feel safe here; so out of place.

He had been the earliest to rise that morning. A nightmare  so vivid chased sleep from his system. He didn’t wake up screaming or falling out of bed, but he woke up crying, praying to God that he hadn’t made any noise to worry his friends. The sorrow slipped across his face and soaked his pillow.

Scott was the first thing he had thought of until the nightmare was gone, but the fear was replaced with deep self-loathing because Isaac believes he’s only good enough for himself and no one else, and Scott is the dopey but charming co-captain of the lacrosse team.

That was just honest fact. Isaac knows what out of his league looks like, it looks like Scott McCall. With that in mind he brought the blankets tighter around him and laid there in the morning haze feeling undeserving of the warmth they provide.

The teacher pauses the video which draws all eyes to the blonde by the door. He blushes at the attention despite the shiver that runs through his senses.

He spots Derek seated by the window next to a girl Isaac doesn’t recognize.

“You must be…” the teacher stands, rounds his desk, and runs his finger down his attendance roster. “Isaac Reyes.”

Isaac nods and adjusts his backpack and his heart flutters at the last name change Deaton made for him.

“Right,” the teacher frowns, obviously displeased by Isaac’s lack of response. “You can take a seat right next to mister Lahey.

 _Lahey?_ The name rests on his tongue, bitter sweet and sour.

“Camden,” the biology teacher continues, “raise your hand please.”

Isaac’s pulse skyrockets as he scans the room for his brother and he’s momentarily floored by the boy with his hand in the air.

Twenty minutes into the class and Isaac hasn’t heard a single thing the teacher’s said. He’s having an internal breakdown in the seat next to Camden and figures there’s no way Derek won’t sense the whirlwind of emotion on him.

The teacher is a small woman with grey hair and wrinkles. She splits them up into groups and since it’s a long period they have an extra forty-five minutes to get started on a lab. “Derek, Isaac, and Camden, you’ll be one group.”

 _Oh God. What the holy fuck am I suppose to do?_ As they work on the project Isaac tries to calm his racing heart, but it doesn’t help that every time Camden so much as breathes his way his stomach drops.

It’s been a while since he’s last seen Camden alive, and even longer since he’s seen that young spark in his eyes. Isaac will always remember his brother as his savior. He’s even forgiven Camden for leaving him with their father to join the military. Most nights, when Isaac was younger, he would sleep in Camden’s bed with him because their father had a tendency to burst into Isaac’s room in the middle of the night. Camden gave Isaac strict orders to not go home after school unless he was there because at ten years old, Isaac isn’t big enough to protect himself against a grown man.

“What do you think, new kid?” Camden asks, pulling Isaac back from his trip down memory lane.

Isaac wrestles with his thoughts for a moment, “I don’t know what’s going on.” He can feel Derek staring holes into his forehead from across the table.

Truthfully, Isaac is scared out of his mind at the situation he’s in. It’ll only take one wrong move-

“Hey, you kind of look like my brother. His name is Isaac too.”

_Oh._

_Oh shit._

_What the hell do I…_ “Really?” Isaac starts, “That’s cool. How old is he?”

“Ten.”

Isaac nods and rests his chin on top of his arms. The boys spend the rest of the period explaining the unit of biology that they’re studying. In Isaac’s opinion, the cell theory is a pretty boring concept that he’s already learned, but for realities sake he’ll play the dumb card.

 

 

LYDIA

During the brief twenty minute break before second period the pack finds their lockers which happen to be no where near each other. Dr. Deaton had brought over some of his daughters old clothes for Lydia to wear. She taps the toe of the worn tennis shoe against her pasty colored locker.

“Hey,” Jackson comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. “What class do you have next?”

Lydia takes a second before answering to soak in the moment. After all the chaos it’s nice to fall back into some sort of stability, like the feeling of Jackson’s arms. “English, you?”

“Same, with a Mrs,” Jackson thumbs open his schedule as they start walking, “A Mrs. Argent. Do you think she’s related to Allison?”

Lydia raises an eyebrow, “I don’t know, I guess we’ll find out though.”

She had woken up that morning to the sound of Isaac’s whimpering. The sun stayed hidden in the early morning smog and clock read six-thirty. She and Jackson had been on the floor and Isaac was on the couch. Jackson had rolled over sometime in the middle of the night so his chin pressed into the blades of Lydia’s shoulder.

She didn’t want to move but the sounds Isaac was making set her on edge. It reminded her of the way she use to go to sleep crying because her parents were always fighting. Now she has Jackson, but Isaac still has no one. In the end she had woken him from his nightmare but let him come too, on his own. She doesn’t tell anybody about Isaac’s nightmare.

“I love you,” she says and bumps her shoulder playfully against Jackson. They walk together down the hall side by side. The name, Argent, eats at the back of her subconscious.

He smirks and runs his hand through the short tuft of non-gelled hair on his forehead, “I know.”

 _Uh, boy please,_ Lydia stops and lets Jackson get a few steps away before calling after him, “That isn’t funny, Jackson!”

When he turns around and flashes his pearly whites at her she raises her chin and storms past him. Theres a playful challenge in her strong stride.

“Oh, come on! I was joking!” Jackson huffs.

Lydia ignores her boyfriend and takes the seat directly in the middle of the classroom. Jackson comes in a second later and slides easily into the seat directly behind her.

“Good morning class,” the teacher starts, “And it looks like we have two new students. Why don’t you guys introduce yourselves.”

Lydia looks up from her desktop to see Kate Argent standing in front of her and has to take a few seconds to recover from the shock. Kate looks at her expectantly so she flashes the fakest, million-dollar, -I-am-queen-, smile and says, “I’m Lydia Whittemore.”

Behind her Jackson coughs loudly. The look on his face when she turns is shocked and a little concerned, but the best part is that she’s not even lying. Her schedule is registered to one miss Lydia Whittemore.

“You have such gorgeous hair, honey.” Kate coos. “Now you?” she turns her attention to the boy sitting behind Lydia.

“I’m Jackson Martin.”

Now it’s Lydia’s turn to gape at him. Her smile is a little too forced when she looks back at him, as if to say, Thank God he’s only a vet and not someone too important because these names...l.o.l.

“Well, you can call me Mrs. Argent.”

The woman in front of her is in her early twenties with thin, finely shaped eyebrows and a nice figure. Her dirty blonde hair is tied up in a ponytail that falls over her shoulder. _Kate Argent? Why would..._ Her thoughts are interrupted by the door opening. A disheveled Derek Hale all but trips into the classroom.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says.

Kate sighs and pushes off her desk. “Hoodie, Mr. Hale.”

“What?” Derek asks, a little breathless. His hazel eyes are too wild with adrenaline to be in a classroom setting.

Kate repeats, but softer this time. “Your Hoodie,” she pulls Derek’s bright red sweatshirt hood down, off his head.

Something inside Lydia’s brain clicks. In therapy her psychiatrist thought it would be a good idea to get to the root of Lydia’s trauma. They started with her childhood so for countless sessions Lydia brushed up on old childrens fairy tales. She didn’t really mind it since nothing really sparked for her. She’d read Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast and seen the movies so she skipped those ones.

Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf though, now that was a book she hadn’t read in a while. Still, nothing clicked with her during therapy which drew the conclusion that the source of her trauma wasn’t in her childhood. _Maybe,_ she would think bitterly to herself, _My trauma is from the creepy-ass stranger who decided to sink it’s teeth into me? just a thought._

From where she’s sitting, the ‘Big Bad Wolf’ isn’t even the literal werewolf. It’s the hunter. And ‘Little Red’ is way out of his league with this one.

“What’d you just run a marathon?” She teases.

Derek stutters a, “It’s a long story,” and another light bulb goes off in Lydia’s head. Being the gossip queen of Beacon Hills high, she knows a thing or two about what a nervous crush looks like.

 _Oh God, this looks like a bad soap opera._ She looks back and forth between the two. _This looks like a nervous crush._

“Take your seat, Derek and don’t let it happen again or I’ll have to write you up.”

Derek nods and makes his way to the back of the room. Lydia notices though, that his gaze lasts a bit too long, seconds too long, after Kate has already looked away. _Aw, baby. Derek, when did you become such jailbait!? You’re practically begging her to ruin your life with her womanly ways._

Lydia’s just about to turn to Jackson when he leans forward and whispers, “They smell like each other. I don’t get it.”

Halfway between horrified and disgusted she waves Jackson off knowing that he can’t possibly be too confused as to what’s going on. She rubs her lips together and focuses on the board in front of her in hopes that her mind just played a trick on her, because the notion that Kate and Derek are a pair makes the whole Hale house fire seven-teen hundred times sicker than it first seems.

Even with the theory, she has no hard evidence to prove anything so when Jackson asks again if she knows why they smell like each other, she tells him no.

A thin copy of, Chronicle of a Death Foretold  rests at her fingertips. Feeling completely dejected, Lydia doesn’t even bother flipping through the pages.

“Have you two read this book before?” Kate picks up her own copy and holds it in the air.

Lydia lies through her teeth and says she hasn’t, but Jackson says he has since their class back in their reality just finished the last chapter. _Good to know Beacon Hills is still teaching the same boring literature._

The rest of the class goes by in a drawl. Every now and then Lydia would glance Derek’s way and sure enough he would be looking at Kate. Not that it’s an unusual thing to be looking at one’s teacher, but something just didn’t sit right with Lydia.

She doesn’t know a lot about Derek Hale, but something creeping up the back of her subconscious tells her that’s about to change.

STILES

It’s finally lunch time and Stiles is antsy, feeling loose and bold from the absence of his Adderall. He grabs a lunch tray and slides it noisily across the line. Without the Adderall to stunt his appetite the first three periods have worked up a hunger in him. He’s hungry but not hungry enough to give into the gross cafeteria food so, he settles on just buying french fries. Stiles chooses a random table to wait for his friends. His leg bounces up and down incessantly and he shoves a curly fry into his mouth.

He had stepped into old familiar hallways of Beacon Hills High School feeling extra sassy, like wit was on the end of his tongue, begging to be let loose. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that  gave him such attitude or maybe Deaton fed him bitch flakes instead of frosted flakes. Scott, on the other hand, embodied impatience and was a complete and utter bitch flake the entire morning. Stiles just shucks it off to do with the full moon coming up.

Somehow he completely fails to see Scott go through the lunch line, so he jumps when his friend slides into the seat in front of him.

He barely gets a word in before a guy he recognizes from his Econ class, _What’s his name? Peter... Patrick..._ comes up to the duo and says, “You’re in my seat.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Oh my god, are we in fifth grade?”

“What’s wrong, Tucker?” Says a small dark skinned girl comes up behind the jock.

 _Tucker as in... the asshole-mechanic_ _who overcharged my Jeep repair and then got crushed to death by Jackson? Well, lunch just got disturbing._ Stiles grimaces, thinking about the memory.

Tucker turns to her, “It’s nothing Kara, these new kids are in our seats.”

“Oh,” she looks at Stiles in a way that makes him feel exposed and weirded out.

“I don’t see how it’s a big deal...” Scott grits out.

“Listen, how about you two just get the fuck up, and find somewhere else to sit?”

Something about Tucker reminds Stiles of Jackson and since he’s been dealing with Jackson’s bull shit for three years, he sure as hell can go toe-to-toe with this guy. He smiles, “We were here first.”

Scott kicks him under the table.

“I don’t want any trouble, _Stiles,_ ” Tucker says his name with obvious grotesque, “But, you’re just asking for it.”

“I don’t see your names on the seats.” Jackson’s snarky attitude matches his shark-like aura as he stops beside the jock. He even cranes his neck to pretend like he’s looking for actual names on the seats.

“Look,” Stiles says to Jackson, waving his hands at Tucker, “We found someone with a bigger ego than you!”

Jackson doesn’t comment and shucks his lunch tray down next to Scott. To Stiles’ surprise, Lydia sits down beside him and flashes him a quick grin before picking up her fork. Nearby lunch tables now interest in the argument over lunch seats and were staring.

“Wow, what a bunch of losers!” Tucker laughs. “Seriously,” he turns towards Jackson, “Who the fuck do you think you are, pretty boy?”

Jackson smirks and hunches his shoulders, “My name’s Jackson.” he smiles adding mockingly, “thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“For you know,” Jackson shrugs and fakes bashfulness, “calling me pretty.”

Tucker rolls his eyes, “I know kids like you. I bet you used to rule your old school. Well, news flash, the people here aren’t the type to roll over for brand label clothes and blonde hair, so watch yourself.”

For a second Stiles is afraid Jackson will lose control and lash out, claws and fangs. The outburst never comes though and he only says, “Says the douche with blonde hair wearing label clothes. I may have blonde hair, but this,” he picks at the second-hand sweat shirt Deaton gave him, “ain’t armani. So, back off.”

“Look,” Stiles holds out his hands in-front of Tucker and Jackson.

“I don’t want to hear it.” The tension rolls off Tuckers shoulders, “just get up.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees a flash of gray and a head of short black hair enter the cafeteria. He stares and wonders if it’s Derek, letting his eyes wander over the persons figure waiting for the moment they turn around. He’s pulled out of his daze though when Lydia lightly nudges him with her elbow.

“You are messing with the wrong group, buster.” Lydia pushes her food around and drops her fork. “Are you really going to make a scene about lunch seats?” She lifts the straw of her drink to her lips and loudly whispers, “Pathetic.” The strawberry blonde sets her drink down and breaks eye contact with Tucker, “Well, at least you’re pretty like Jackson, here.”

Jackson snorts a laugh at that and doesn’t bother hiding his shit-eating grin from Tucker. Under the table his foot moves in between both of Lydia’s and their legs touch. He doesn’t move away from her and she doesn’t mind in the least.

Tucker hunches his shoulders, making him look bigger than he really is. “I think you got it backwards, at least _you’re_ pretty because I’m five seconds away from-”

Jackson interjects, “You better not be threatening my girlfriend.” He leans forward on the table so that he can be seen clearly from where Tucker stands.

“Oh he wouldn’t dare!” Lydia coos, playfully.

Stiles looks back and forth between his two friends and Tucker and smiles. _Asshole-mechanic, meet Beacon Hills’ #1 power couple. The Whittemartins._

“Hey, Tuck,” Derek claps his hand down on Tucker shoulder but the other boy shrugs him off violently.

“Stay out of this, Derek!”

Derek looks at Tucker and frowns, “Is there,” he looks at Stiles then Scott, Lydia, and Jackson, “a problem here?”

“Yeah, your friend’s an ass.” Stiles deadpans.

“What the fuck did you just call me?!”

Derek stifles his laughter, “Why don’t we leave the new kids alone?”

“Because,” Tucker says through his teeth, “They’re in our seats.”

“So? We can go sit over there.”

“No! We always sit here and we’re not going to change because of some new kids.”

Derek sighs dramatically and looks at Kara with an expression that Stiles knows too well since he’s found himself give it to Scott more and more; ‘Back me up.’ And he knows her eye roll and shrug means, you’re on your own, buddy. “Just leave it alone.” Derek picks little bits of food off his tray with his fingers.

“Derek,” Tucker turns to him, “for a smart kid, you’re being really fucking dumb right now.”

“Maybe it’s because I sold my soul to write my english paper.”

Tucker rolls his eyes and goes back to staring down Jackson.

Kara smiles at him, “You wrote that when you were drunk right?”

Stiles never misses a flirty gesture between friends. People may not think this of him, but he is very observant. This is why he’s convinced that Isaac wants to bone Scott. It’s also why he’s convinced Kara wants to bone Derek, but that’s not going to happen. It’s just not.

“Yes, which means I sold my soul in a post-drunken state of panic. I’m surprised I didn’t give myself a tumor. Wait, how did you know I was drunk?”

“You put it all over Tumblr.”

Derek almost blushes and looks away. The light catches the green in his eyes and makes them stand out startlingly against his pale skin and dark eyebrows.

Stiles laughs and looks away awkwardly when Derek’s eyes meet his. _Who are you?_ he thinks, _What have you done with grumpy mcsuperfrown? How is Derek Hale talking about getting smashed, using Tumblr, and failing an English paper. Just, what, no._

“What the hell are you laughing at?” Tucker looks Stiles right in the eyes.

“Nothing.”

“No, you were laughing at him.” He turns to Derek, “What did you say to him.”

“Uh, nothing. I was talking to Kara about failing my life.”

Tucker rolls his eyes and smiles, but when he turns back to Stiles his whole demeanor changes, “He wasn’t even talking to you.”

“Whoa, man chill.” Stiles holds his hands up in front of him, “It’s not a big deal. I laughed. He’s a pretty funny guy,” he waves in Derek’s general direction, “I mean, when he doesn’t look like he’s going to rip my throat out.” The last part comes out of the statement dies in Stiles’ mouth when he Lydia’s shoe collides with his shin under the table.

She looks at him as if to say, think before you speak!

Tucker slams his hand down on the table, making everyone seated at it jump. “I’m going to rip your fucking-”

“Okay, Tuck.” Derek yanks Tucker’s backpack, “It’s time to go. Come on, lets go.”

Tucker lets himself get dragged by Derek away from the pack’s table, but not before he says, “You better watch yourself new kids. I won’t fucking forget this.” 

Stiles scoffs and rolls his brown eyes, “Sure.” He shoves a handful of fries into his mouth and doesn’t care that half of them fall back out.

“All that,” Jackson points to where Derek and Tucker are seated, “For a couple of lunch seats? Unless this shit is made from gold,” he smacks the chair beside him,  “the guy is a dick for making such a big deal.”

“And I thought your anger management was bad enough.”

“Shut it, Stilinski.”

“Hey, hey,” Stiles wipes his mouth, “thats McKall to you.” He corrects Jackson, “Shut it, McKall.”

Jackson’s eyebrows come together, “Is that really the name Deaton gave you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles whole face lights up, “But it’s spelled with a ‘K’ not a ‘C’.” “So,” Lydia completely interrupts, “Kate Argent is my english teacher.”

Scott’s eyes almost pop out of his head. “Kate Argent!?” He shivers.

Stiles looks between Scott and Lydia with a confused expression, “The chick who burnt down Derek’s place?”

“And killed his whole family.” Lydia adds.

“And tried to kill him.” Stiles retorts.

“And almost killed me.” Scott rubs his eyes with the palm of his hands.

“Wait, what?” Jackson asks.

Nobody bothers explaining it to him right away since each of the teens thinks somebody else will inform Jackson, but nobody bothers to do it. “Long story short,” Scott groans, “Allison’s crazy aunt.”

“Oh God, emphasis on the crazy.” Stiles groans and leans back from the table, wondering how much of the conversation he will miss if he gets up to grab a water bottle.

Lydia turns sharply towards him before he can get up, “Yep, I don’t know what’s going on exactly but there’s something going on between Derek and Kate. Judging by the bedroom eyes he was giving her the entire class, their relationship is definitely not platonic.”

Stiles’ stomach flips, “Come on!”

“What?” Isaac says and sits down next to Scott and picks up his apple.

“Kate Argent.” Is all Scott says with a huff.

Isaac nods and bites into the apple. The skin breaks under the pressure of his teeth and the taste is cool and sweet on his tongue. He squirms a bit in his seat a little before settling with resting his elbows on the table top. “So, do we get secret code names?”

Scott laughs quietly, “No. Why would we?”

“Because we’re being secret.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, “That’s the best thing i’ve ever heard. Yes, yes we should have code names.”

“No,” and of course Jackson is the first to oppose the idea.

Stiles shoots a look at Jackson, “What-why do you always shoot down my ideas?”

“Uh,” he pauses, “Because they’re stupid?”

Scott finishes his lunch and watches his best friend bicker with his co-captain. Lydia has a smile on her face and watches Jackson go back and forth with Stiles.

After a few minutes when Isaac is sure that the other three are too wrapped up in their own conversation to hear him, he turns to Scott and says, “My brother is in my biology class.” Isaac takes another bite from the apple and couldn’t be eating it any louder if he tried.

Scott knows what happened to Camden Lahey and how he died in combat. “Does he recognise you?”

The beta shakes his head and keeps his voice low, “He mentioned the resemblance I have with... myself, but I don’t think he thought too much about it.”

Scott sighs and offers a slight smile, “Let’s hope not.” 

Isaac lets the moments of silence slip in between him and Scott. The words he wants to say tug on his lips. “Scott, I can’t do this.”

Scott struggles with his own response and settles lamley with, “Yes, you can.”

“Well, what would you do?”

“I would try to stick it out I guess. You can always switch classes.”

Isaac’s gaze is headlong out the window. Scott’s eyes linger on him and he knows that his answer wasn’t enough to calm to hurricane inside his curly haired friend. “I know I can,” Isaac starts, “switch classes, I mean. The thing is that I don’t want- this is my only chance to get to know him, you know?”

Scott nods even though Isaac isn’t looking at him. “I understand.”

“But, it’s hard because I just don’t know what to say. Ever. And today in class he was talking about all the things he wanted to do when he graduates. He talked about dreams and stuff that I never even knew he had. It’s like, I want to get to know him and be closer with him but I don’t know if I can do that without, I don’t know.”

“Giving yourself away?” Scott offers.

“Yeah, something like that.” Isaac’s eyes held a strong uncertainty in them. Not the vulnerability Scott had seen in the vet’s office before the final lacrosse game when Isaac confessed to him that he had nowhere to go, but a heavy sense of longing and loss of what to do with that longing. “He’s dead, Scott. I don’t know if I can sit in class and talk to him and look him in the eye and pretend like I never went to his funeral. I don’t think I can pretend that he doesn’t mean as much to me as he really does.”

“You doubt yourself too much. You don’t have to pretend, just use what you know to get closer to him. He’s your brother, Isaac-”

“He was my brother,” Isaac corrects.

“So, what I’m trying to say is that since you know what’s going to happen in the future, get to know him now. Don’t let your doubts get in the way.”

Isaac exhales and finishes off his apple, “Okay.”

The day ends with History class; a subject Stiles doesn’t really care for unless it’s about the supernatural. Derek’s in his class though, which makes the boring subject suddenly so much more interesting. He doesn’t know why, but before he realises it, he’s dropping his backpack next to the table and sliding into the seat right next to Derek.

“Hey, waiter boy,” he says lamely before he can stop himself. _Why did I say that!?_

Derek smiles in the slightest way, opting for a simple, “Hey, Stiles.”

Stiles drums his fingertips against the desk while Derek doodles on the cover of his binder. He looks around and sees theres not much difference from this classroom compared to the one six years in the future. He looks at the digital clock that hangs over the door, it says there are five minutes until class starts and students are still filling the classroom so theres not much going on.

“So I’m relying on you to fill me in on what we’re learning.”

Derek snorts and drops his pen on the table, “You think I know?”

Stiles studies Derek’s face for a second. _Seem’s like Derek’s neutral and brooding pissy face hasn’t changed over the years._ “You haven’t been paying attention?”

“Not really.”

Laughing he says, “Why am I not surprised?” _Oh wait, shit._

Derek looks at him sharply, wondering if Stiles meant the comment as a stereotypical stab at his intelligence to good-looks ratio.

Practically reading his facial expression Stiles says quickly, “Wait, that’s not what I meant-”

“Hey, loser.” Tucker interrupts, dropping his books inches from where Stiles’ fingers lay. “Get out of my seat.”

Stiles actually smacks himself, “Are you fricken’ serious right now?”

Tucker huffs, “Get out.”

“No way in hell!” Stiles looks at Derek, who looks amused. “Is this really happening right now?”

Derek shrugs and drums his pen on the table.

“I’m going to count to ten and If you’re not out of that seat-”

“You’re going to what? Kick my ass? I thought pretty boys like you didn’t like to get their hands dirty.”

“Okay, kid.” Tucker leans over and gets right in Stiles’ face. “Get the fuck up.”

Stiles shakes his head, “I’m not getting up and stop calling me kid.”

Tucker looks at Derek who’s back to scribbling with his pen, “I have to talk with him,” he says to Stiles.

“I don’t care about your not-so-secret crush on Derek. I’m not getting up.” _I’m so dead,_ he thinks when Tucker’s face turns red. _What the hell is this guy’s problem!_

“You think you’re funny?”

Stiles doesn’t respond and pulls out his notebook.

Tucker repeats his question, “You think you’re funny?” and knocks Stiles’ notebook onto the floor. By now the class was pretty much filled up and people were staring. The teacher has yet to make an appearance even though class started a minute ago.

Stiles gives Tucker the most appalled expression he can muster without looking sexual, “You, are a dick.”

Derek laughs and shoots Stiles a sideways glance.

Tucker clenches his jaw, “Derek, don’t laugh.”

Stiles can see the smile Derek tries to hide with his hand and can feel himself start to smile.

“Tuck, just take a seat.” Derek chuckles; amused.

“Tucker,” the teacher echos, “take a seat.”

Tucker literally growls at the teacher and it startles Stiles enough for him to flinch and shake the table which actually makes Derek laugh really hard kind of uncontrollably. Then Stiles starts to laugh so they spend the next ten minutes trying to stop laughing which only makes them laugh harder and when they stop, Stiles clutches his stomach and makes a side comment that goes something like, dear God, I’m like crying.

Halfway through class, a wad of paper smacks Stiles in the back of the head and he can hear quiet laughter all around him. He brushes the paper out of his hood where it got caught, turns to Tucker, who is seated right behind him, and sneers.

The second time it happens the paper bounces off Stiles’ shoulder and clocks Derek’s nose. Derek picks it up carefully, confused he raises an eyebrow at Stiles before turning slowly to Tucker. In any other situation, this would be comical, but Stiles knows that look in Derek’s eyes. He’s seen it before and it meant war.

“Sorry, dude.” Tucker’s speech is cut by his laughter, “That wasn’t meant for you.”

The third time it happens, Stiles puts his head down just in time so the paper ball goes flying over him. He flips Tucker his middle finger behind his back.

The fourth and last time it happens, the paper weapon goes right off Stiles’ head and lands on Derek’s paper. _That’s the last fucking time you’re going to throw paper at me, I swear to God I will kill what you love,_ Stiles seeths.

He is a second from turning around and cussing out Tucker in words that aren’t even real when Derek grabs the paper, turns around, and pitches it over the arm, and right into Tuckers face. “F-” Derek drags out the sound, not bothering to be even a little quiet, “-uck you!”

“Yeah, bitch.” Stiles makes some awkward head motions to substitute his usual weird behavior choice which would be to  throw up gang signs.

Tucker is about to retort, but stops and stares past them. He blinks and points behind Stiles and Derek.

“Mr. Hale,” the teacher drawls, “Mr. McKall.”

Stiles whips around to see the teacher standing right in front of their desk. Derek turns slowly, slouches in his chair looks pissed and dejected.

“Yes, sir?” Stiles rubs his hands together in front of him. _Why must this always happen to me?!_

“Detention, both of you.”

“Wait, why? Tucker was the one who-”

“I don’t care who started it. I know it’s your first day here, Stiles, but we do not accept that kind of language here.”

Stiles drops his head to the table but misjudges the length and his forehead hits the surface with a lot more force than he intended. A few kids laugh, including Derek, so he stays there and pretends that he meant to ram his face into the desk as hard as he did.

“Why don’t you go see a nurse, Tucker.” The teacher turns and walks back to the front of the room.

Derek smacks Tucker in the stomach when he passes by and says, “Are you really bleeding, you fuck? It was paper.”

Tucker turns to reveal a small cut over his eyebrow. It’s not even bleeding. “I don’t even care.” He says, glad he’s getting a -get-out-of-class-free- card.

As Tucker passes, Derek grabs the back of his jacket but misses. “You suck. You seriously suck.”

The bell rings, “Derek and Stiles?” The teacher says robotically. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. I expect you two to still be here for detention.”

 _Great,_ Stiles thinks sarcastically. _I wonder if Derek can smell my discontent._

 

 


	6. Euphoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dabbles in bisexuality

Derek whips out his cell phone the second the teacher leaves the room. It’s just a simple black touch screen phone with a huge crack down the front of the screen. He had forgotten to take his phone out of his pocket during training on the one day he gets sideswiped a little too hard and catapults into a tree.

“Hey, Laura,” he says into the receiver once she picks up, “I’m in detention-I know, I know, just listen. Can you pick Matt up for me from school?”

Next to him, Stiles takes out his own phone and sends a quick text to Lydia explaining that he’s in detention and they shouldn’t wait up for him. He doesn’t know if she even brought her phone with her during the time jump so he texts Scott also.

“Then just drop him off here at the school, I’ll take him home after detention, and you can go back to your study group. I’m sure the teacher won’t care if you drop him off, besides he has nowhere else to go.” Derek doesn’t miss the annoyed tone in his sister’s voice as she agrees to pick their little brother up and drop him off with Derek.

“Mr. Hale and Mr. McKall,” the teacher says with a sigh. His brown loafers squeak against the tile floor as he re-enters the classroom. “You boys know why you’re here in detention, correct?”

Stiles groans, “because the world hates me?”

“Off your phone, Derek,” the teacher sits at his own desk and runs his eyes over the papers that scatter the surface.

“I’ve got to go-no just bring him! Okay, bye.” Derek harshly whispers into the cracked device before ending the call and slipping the phone back into his pocket.

“You’re here,” the teacher says, “because Stiles you used inappropriate language and Derek, you threw something at another student which is unacceptable.”

Derek scoffs, “Did you not see him throwing paper at Stiles and I all period?”

“No, I didn’t.” the teacher says and straightens the cuffs on his blazer.

Derek slumps in his chair, because this isn’t fair at all. “Can my sister drop off my little brother, because I was suppose to pick him up from school today, but I can’t since I’m here instead.”

The teacher doesn’t look up from the papers on his desk, like he couldn’t give two shits what Derek did or not. Derek finds this kind of rude and he doesn’t understand why adults think they can be rude and it’s acceptable behavior just because they were conceived a handful of years earlier.

“That’s not allowed, Derek.” The teacher says.

“Well, I think they’re already on their way...” Derek scratches his whiskers, the light stubble that just started growing along his jaw over the summer.

His hearing which sharp like a hunting dogs from years of training pick up on Laura and Matt’s footfalls the second they turn down the corridor. He never even told her what classroom he’s in, not that it mattered though. If he breathes in deep enough then he can faintly smell the perfume that she always wears. It’s the one that burns his throat and smells like vanilla.

Laura knocks on the door frame and peers into the classroom, “Hi, I was wondering if I could drop off my little brother,” she runs her long fingers through the front of Matt’s curly chocolate hair.

“Very well,” the teacher sighs, “Only because you were one of my very best students, Laura.” he smiles at her.

“Thank you, so much.” Laura breathes a sigh of relief and pushes Matt toward Derek and leaves.

Not a moment later, a chill settles in the air. The vibes rise off of Stiles and prick at the back of Derek’s neck. The closer Matt gets to him, the colder Stiles’ aura gets. Derek doesn’t know what to think of it so he doesn’t do anything about it.

Leaning down to Matt’s eye level he takes the boy’s backpack and pulls up a chair and says, “Hey bud, how was school?”

Matt shrugs and hops up on the chair, “It was okay. Nothing special happened.”

“Okay, well we can talk about it once we get in the car.”

“Wait,” Matt reaches for his backpack.

“What?” Derek asks, freezing mid-motion from placing the backpack on the floor.

“I want to color.”

“Oh, sure.” Derek places the backpack on the desk and nudges it towards his brother.

He watches Matt for a moment as he takes out the things from his backpack to color with. _I wonder when Matt’s wolf senses will kick in,_ he thinks, _maybe the never will._ He thinks it’s strange, how little kids can be so content with just a coloring book. They don’t even have to know where they are, as long as their occupied, their happy.

Sometime during detention, it began to rain. The light drizzle streaks the windows of the classroom and beyond the glass is a grey canvas of a sky. Derek picks up a crayon and starts to help Matt color in his picture by doodling clouds in the corner.

Derek doesn’t notice when Kate Argent comes into the classroom until he hears her voice, “Mr. Liebe,” she says, “You’re needed in the hallway, there’s been a slight emergency.”

And Derek thought the room couldn’t become any colder if it was launched into deep space. Next to him the temperature continued to plummet in tune with Stiles’ emotional swing. The chill burns right through his sixth sense and layers onto his bones.

 _He’s giving off such bad vibes,_ he thinks and for some reason, Derek feels his mood take a complete 360 turn around and when he looks at Kate he feels dissatisfied and incomplete. He’s been feeling like this alot lately, it comes and goes like the weather or the moon as it dances with the tides.

Mr. Liebe, a stout man who keeps a shaven face, stands up and says, “Okay,” then turns to the three boys in detention, “don’t go anywhere.” When he rubs his chin, the wrinkles around his eyes seem to become deeper.

He walks pask Kate, fixes his belt and steps outside the room. Before Kate leaves, she catches Derek’s eye and smiles at him. It’s enough to make Derek’s heart thud in his chest. When she turns and leaves, Derek clenches his jaw and hates himself for acting like some lovesick puppy. He knows that Kate is made of trouble and temptation, yet he can’t help getting ahead of himself sometimes.

Derek thinks that part of the reason why he’s so attracted to Kate is because he can’t have her, hence the temptation thing. Kate had made that plenty clear after they had first hooked up at the end of last year. Every night ended with her telling him how they couldn’t keep sneaking around and how she had made a mistake. Even though she made it clear to him, he still managed to end up right back where he swore he’d stop going.

And he really loved those summer nights with her, he’s not even afraid to admit it. Their reckless hookups never got as far as sex and he didn’t think they would.

“So,” Stiles says.

His voice pulls Derek out of his Kate induced daydream.

Stiles leans over to Matt, “Hi,” he greets, “I’m Stiles.”

“Hi,” Matt returns with a shy grin. “That’s a funny name.”

Stiles shrugs, “Yeah, I get that alot. What are you coloring?”

“Uh,” Matt sits back from the picture and turns his head sideways, as if contemplating his answer, “It’s a wolf that I drew.”

“Oh, really? Can I see it?” Stiles asks and reaches for the paper.

The whole time Derek is sitting between them, watching the two interact.

“Sure,” Matt says happily, glad to receive such attention and slides the paper over to Stiles.

Stiles nods approvingly at the paper after looking the drawing over, “Why’s it standing on two legs?”

“Because it’s a man too,” Matt says.

“Oh,” Stiles purses his lips, “Like... a werewolf?”

 _What?_ Derek thinks, his ears keying into the word, werewolf.

“Yeah, like a werewolf!” Matt chirps, “I’m drawing Deedee.”

Derek’s pulse jumps and he groans and thinks to himself, _Fucking hell Matt stop drawing me like an animal!_

“It’s really good,” Stiles complements and hands the drawing back to Matt, “Who’s Deedee?”

“My brother,” Matt says almost shyly and jabs Derek in his bicep with a crayon.

Stiles completely fails to muffle his laughter when he looks at Derek and says, “Deedee?”

Derek frowns and crosses his arms, “Wipe that smug look off your face, I’ve told him to stop calling me that and he won’t.”

“No,” Stiles waves his hands in front of his face to emphasise that he wasn’t making fun of the nickname, “It’s cute.”

Derek doesn’t think the compliment is a big deal so he thinks it’s funny when Stiles freezes and clams up.

“Not that,” Stiles begins, “I mean, I didn’t mean that in a weird way, you know?”

Derek just looks at the other teen and nods and motions him to finish.

“It’s not like, I was hitting on you or anything.” Stiles looks away from Derek and bobbs his his head chews on his bottom lip.

 _This kid has ADHD or something,_ Derek thinks from watching the way Stiles moves and acts, like he can sense the carelessness in the kid’s movements.

“Are you angry with me?” Stiles breathes, “Because you look kind of pissed off. I mean, you can stop me whenever you- Okay, I’m just going to shut up now.”

Derek can’t help the grin that slides onto his face when he responds, “It’s no big deal. A lot of people think the nickname is cute.”

Matt’s attention snaps from the colorful drawing of Derek, to Stiles. The teacher walks back in and it’s that moment when Matt decides to shout, “Are you guys married?!”

The teacher snorts and raises his eyebrows at the three boys before taking a seat behind his desk.

Stiles laughs out loud, a sound that catches Derek off guard and almost makes him jump. Stiles’ watered down chestnut eyes gleam and he says, “No, we’re not married.”

“Oh,” Matt pauses to think before adding, “Do you guys kiss?!”

 _Jesus. Christ. In. Heaven._ Derek’s thoughts hammer against his ears and he can feel the blush creeping up his neck, “No Matt, please stop.”

Stiles laughs a little louder than before and the easiness that rolls off his shoulders helps to relieve the tension in Derek’s own clenched muscles.

“Because my sister says,” Matt chirps to Stiles, completely ignoring Derek’s request to stop, “That-”

“Matt, stop.” Derek flicks one of his crayons onto the floor.

Stiles also ignores Derek’s request and encourages the ten year old to finish his story, “Go on, what did your sister tell you?”

“That sometimes Deedee kisses other boys and they go on dates,” he says like it’s the most casual non-embarrassing thing in the world.

 _ASDFGHJKL;,_ Derek’s mind manages to go blank like a canvas and become a battleground at the same time. “Shh,” he warns his little brother because the teacher is giving him the stink eye, probably because they’re making so much noise. “Matt please, shut up.”

Derek groans and covers his face with his hands, knowing he can’t do anything to prevent his face from turning the color of a volcano. He can tell that Stiles is trying his hardest not to laugh at this newfound information, but he’s doing a crappy job.

He was going to kill Laura when she got home from her study group. Of course she would tell their ten year old kid brother that Derek likes to dabble in different sexual orientations. She probably thought it would be funny or something.

“Are you sad now?” Matt asks his brother and frowns. “Laura told me it’s okay that you kiss boys. And you kiss girls too so you shouldn’t be sad.”

And just like that, the floodgates open and Stiles practically keels over he’s laughing so hard.

“Oh my God, brother.” Derek reaches over to Matt and clamps one hand on the back of his head and the over over the boy’s mouth. “We’re not kissing each other, or married, or anything. We’re just friends, thats it. So don’t go running home to tell Laura _(who i’m going to kill when she gets home)_ a bunch of lies about how I’m “married” to a boy you met in detention.”

Matt tries to talk but it just comes out like a bunch of garbled noises, “asdfgsddhtjgksdf.”

“No,” Derek shakes Matt’s head a little, “Seriously, I don’t want any awkward questions from mom and dad.” _Especially if they find out Stiles is the kid who runs with the outsider wolves. Stiles probably thinks I’m so fucking weird._

The littlest boy nods fiercely and pries Derek’s hand away from his face, “Fine!”

The teacher, whom has been silently laughing the whole time sobers up enough to say, “Quiet down.”

Derek apologizes but doesn’t mean it. They aren’t allowed to talk anymore after that, which Derek doesn’t mind in the least. The chill lifted from the room sometime during their conversation, but outside, the rain came down hard and fast.

“Alright boys,” the teacher shoves his briefcase onto his desk and begins to collect his things, “Now I won’t see you in here anytime soon, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.” Stiles says and Derek agrees.

They pack up their own things and head out into the hallway. The walk down to the lobby is spent in silence and every window they pass, beyond the glass is the rain which falls and coats everything in it’s path between the sky and the earth.

When they reach the front steps of the school, Stiles looks at Derek with a look that Derek can only describe as nervousness. The grey light hits Stiles’ eyes and remind Derek of a cup of coffee with too much milk and not enough coffee, like the dark redwood from a damp tree after a hurricane.

“Do you need a ride home?” He asks Stiles.

Stiles stares out into the falling pour that drips from the overhang that they’re under. “Uh,” he pulls out his phone and lights up the screen. Theres no new messages from Scott or Lydia so he decides to take Derek’s offer, “Sure, if it’s not too out of the way.”

“Where do you live?”

“I’m staying with my uncle,” Stiles says after a long pause. “He owns an animal clinic downtown so you can just drop me off there.”

“Okay,” Derek pulls out his car keys and puts his hood up over his head. He looks down at Matt, “You ready, bud?” And when Matt nods, Derek dashes out into the rain, “This way,” he calls out behind him.

Matt runs after Derek with his backpack held up over his head to shield himself from the rain. Stiles doesn’t bother with the hood of his sweatshirt and jumps from the steps, out from the cover of the overhang. He feels the rain slip between the collar of his shirt.

The rain is coming down hard, but the sky hasn’t darkened. Matt is moving a little too slow so Derek runs back and scoops up his brother awkwardly and yells to Stiles, “I can’t remember where I parked!”

Stiles catches up with Derek and Matt, “Give me your keys,” he makes grabby motions with his hands.

Derek hands over his keys and Stiles hits the panic button on them. As soon as he does, a sharp alarm rings out two rows back and Stiles, followed by Derek, races for it. Derek puts Matt down once they reach the black car and Stiles throws the keys to him. Derek unlocks the driver’s door and dives inside while Stiles jiggles the door handle of the passengers seat until Derek reaches over and unlocks the door for him. Matt jumps in the back and shivers loudly.

When Derek starts the car, Stiles’ hands immediately go to the air vents for warmth, but what comes out is cold air. So he groans and shivers because it’s October and he’s soaked through.

“It’ll heat up soon.” Derek comments and glances in the rearview mirror at his little brother. “Matt, you all buckled up back there?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, “Can we go home now?”

“Yes, but we have to drop off Stiles first.” Derek backs out, turns on the windshield wipers, brushes the hair from his forehead, and sniffs. “At least I don’t have to worry about washing my car anymore...”

The car heats up slowly but when it does heat up, Stiles slowly unfolds, his muscles relaxing. He gives Derek turn by turn directions to the vet clinic and when they pull up Stiles thanks Derek and gets out of the car. Derek stays parked in the driveway though, just to make sure Stiles can get inside the clinic. It’s a safety habit he’s picked up ever since he started driving Matt around.

The rain doesn’t let up, instead it pelts the car coming down no longer in a fine spray, but sharp droplets that probably sting when they hit you.

Derek watches Stiles try and open the door to the clinic seven times, peek in the window once, knock and ring the doorbell twice, and pull out his phone and call someone three times. By the look of things though, no one is answering. Derek hears the dial tone beyond the rain and picks up on Stiles’ frustrated heart and suddenly he’s glad that he stuck around because, _This kid would be so screwed if I just left._

Derek rolls down the window on the passenger side and yells, “Get back in,” before pausing and reevaluating what he just did. _Why, did I offer to help him?_

Stiles laughs once he gets back in Derek’s car, “Sorry,” he breathes. “I guess no one is home.”

“It’s no problem.” Derek puts the car in drive and begins the head out, “I don’t live too far from here so we can to my place until your uncle gets back.”

“Okay. thanks.”

Derek can smell the cold come off Stiles’ skin. It drifts off in waves, like steam out of a kettle and mixes with the warmth of the car.

Stiles recognizes the song that plays through Derek’s radio and to him it was an old and overplayed tune that came out six years ago, but to Derek it was a song that had only just caught fire.

“Do you like this song?” Stiles asks.

“It’s alright.” Derek replies.

The rest of the car ride is spent talking about music and books and Stiles learns things about Derek that he’d never guess and Derek notices the way he naturally opens up to Stiles, like he _wants_ to tell him things, in a way that took him a long time to establish with Camden.

 _Watch yourself Hale,_ Derek thinks after catching his mind wandering to thoughts about the kid next to him, _He could be nothing but bad news._

So, they’re driving down a back road and the trees along side the car cut the horizon. The sky opens up just enough for some light to break through and suddenly everything falls into place. The heat is as high as the radio as they cruise down the street and as Derek listens to Stiles talk, he looks in the back and sees Matt sleeping and thinks, _this is one of those moments in life where the worst thing that could happen, happened. But it’s actually really great._ And he feels a sense of saudade and euphoria at the same time and wonders how that could be. He feels like he’s been thrown into something worthwhile, something great.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking about making the chapters a lot longer, this one is suppose to be longer but you all wanted an update so bad that I decided to split it into two parts. :)


	7. Fatal Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We all know he wants to bone Scott."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the previous chapter.

The Hale house is extravagant with its cream exterior and dark shingles. There are four windows on the second story of the house and four on the first story, split by one big dark blue door.

Stiles seems awestruck by Derek's house, because he's just staring at it open mouthed like a fish.

Derek thinks this is kind of awkward, since he knows that his house is bigger than most and sometimes he thinks it makes him come off as some stuck up rich kid. So, he sits in the car, waiting for Stiles to make the first move. He isn't sure why, but for a moment he could swear that he felt pain coming from Stiles in that moment. Just a white hot flash of pain, gone as quickly as it came.

"You okay?" Derek asks.

"What?" Stiles has a glassy and distant look in his eyes. "Oh, yeah I'm fine," he turns to Derek and half smiles, "Let's go.”

Derek  locks the car once everyone is out and leads Stiles around the back of the house and into the garage.

"Is anyone here?" Stiles takes off his sneakers, feeling awkward and damp.

Derek sensed from the moment that he parked his car that no one was home, but for the sake of looking normal, he decides to call out into the house anyway, "Hello?" and after a moment says to Stiles, "I guess not. It's fine though, my parents won't mind."

_Maybe._

The first thing Derek does is toss his backpack on the floor and lead Stiles to the hallway where his washing machine and dryer is. Derek helps Matt pull off his wet clothes and throws them into the machine and once Matt’s clothes are all off Derek tells him to run upstairs and get his pajamas on and then start his homework.

Now it’s just Derek and Stiles and they’re both still wet from the rain but less cold from the heat of the car and the house. Derek shucks his sweatshirt off first and Stiles follows in suit, watching as Derek chucks them both in the dryer without much grace.

Stiles’ tee shirt clings to him in all the right places. It’s just a simple gray cotton tee shirt, but Derek can’t help but stare. The shirt outlines the little muscle Stiles has and now that he’s done away with all the extra layers, Derek feels like he’s really seeing the boy for all he physically is. Looking at Stiles now, Derek is kind of surprised to notice that Stiles is basically the same height as him, a half inch shorter at the most.

 _I could’ve sworn he was a little shorter_ , he thinks.

Another thing Derek notices is how vastly different their body types are. Stiles is all angles, limbs, and bones, and he’s healthy looking, but buries his figure under inches of fabric. Limber, is the word that comes to mind. Whereas Derek even though he’s only a junior, just started growing facial hair this past summer and can pass for a twenty year old. He’s well layered in muscle from hours of training on the forest floor learning how to fight and defend, but he’s not so buff that Stiles would be drowned out in one of his tee shirts.

A voice in the back of his head tells him to look away but he just can’t. Derek’s gaze travels up Stiles’ neck and stops abruptly when the boy sneezes; breaking Derek out of the heavy trace he was in.

“Bless you,” Derek says and looks back at Stiles who rubs his nose and blushes.

“Thanks,” Stiles says and his eyes flick to Derek’s chest before looking away, his blush deepening.

Derek looks down at himself and thinks, _Oh,_ because he’s wearing a white tee shirt, or at least, it was white before the rain turned it transparent. _This is kind of embarrassing_ , he thinks self-consciously, _I wonder if Stiles is embarrassed or if he thinks it’s uncomfortable since we just met. He blushed after all..._

Pushing the thoughts aside, Derek regains his composure and says, “Okay, take off your shirt, pants, socks” he lists. “We can change your boxers upstairs.” Derek holds his hands out for Stiles’ clothes but not before correcting the ‘we’ in the last part of his sentence to a ‘you’ and then adding a flustered, “you know what I mean.”

_Good job Derek, way to be awkward._

Stiles quickly peels off the rest of his clothing and sort of hunches his shoulders once he’s exposed, though not in a shy way.

Derek tries not to look at the rest of Stiles’ body, he really does, but he does catch sight of Stiles’ Christmas tree boxers and snorts.

Sure, he’s been with a guy before, and sure, Stiles is attractive, but Derek isn’t into that. At least, that’s what he tells himself. By ‘been with a guy before’ he means, A guy, as in singular man. And it was just a fling in sophomore year that didn’t really mean anything to him, but the way Matt described it to Stiles back in detention made it seem like Derek whored around with the entire male junior class. At least, that’s what Derek got out of what Matt said, so he hopes that Stiles got something different.

When Derek takes off his shirt, he makes a show of it because he can and arches his back just a little when he pulls it off and throws it in with the other clothes. He doesn’t miss how Stiles’ heart beats a little faster after that.

But the rest of his clothes come off a lot clumsier, but he doesn’t really care and almost falls over trying to yank his jeans off. The over the top suave image he was going for, now gone. His dark red briefs cling uncomfortably to his hips.

After the dryer is started, Derek reaches down and produces two towels from the bottom drawer of the washing machine and hands one to Stiles who takes it gratefully and begins to wipe his face down.

As they head upstairs, Derek turns on lights and can’t help but feel a bit self-conscious of his home. “So, how was your first day?” he asks in attempt to break the silence.

“Not bad,” Stiles wraps the towel around his shoulders as he walks, “But your friend Tucker, is a raging asshole.”

“I know.” Derek’s towel rests around his hips as he walks, “He’s worse than my sister on her period.”

When they reach the upper floor, which isn’t heated, Derek senses the goose bumps rise up on Stiles. He’s perfectly fine though, since his body temperature is hardwired just a few key degrees higher than a normal humans.

“Is this your family?” Stiles asks, stopping by a picture on the wall. It’s the same one that Derek was caught staring at a few nights ago by his aunt.

“Yeah,” Derek stops but only for a second and turns into his room.

But he turns back when Stiles doesn’t follow him and waits idly by the doorframe for the boy. Stiles stares at the picture with a distant look in his eyes. His heart beats steady, a constant thrum in Derek’s ears.

“Come on,” Derek calls to Stiles and waits for him to peel his gaze away from the picture and follow him into his bedroom. Inside the room, Derek feels the wall for the light switch and flicks it on when his fingertips brush it. He takes in the state of his room and groans.  “Sorry about the mess,” he says sheepishly and begins to collect things off the floor.

“I would’ve pegged you to be a neat freak...” Stiles smiles and watches Derek make a path for them because his room looks like a tornado ripped through it.

The floor isn’t visible beyond the clutter of books, papers, and clothes. Derek’s walls are painted gray but what his room lacks in color it makes up for in decoration. His room isn’t as heavily postered as Stiles’ own but it has a few Coldplay and Nirvana posters.

Derek walks over to his redwood dresser and begins to root through it, opening all the drawers and not bothering to shut them closed after.

 _I should say something,_ he thinks. He wants to break the silence with a topic that both he and Stiles can talk about. Lucky for him, he remembers how erratic Isaac’s heartbeat was in class earlier. _That’s something, right? Stiles is friends with Isaac._ He reassures silently to himself before saying out loud, “So, your friend… Isaac Reyes.”

“Yeah?” Stiles says then adds, “what about him?”

“He’s kind of jumpy.”

Stiles shrugs, even though Derek can’t see from his angle, “I guess so. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Derek holds up a gray tee shirt out in front of him and looks it over before throwing it to Stiles. “He just seemed jumpy in class. Maybe he has a crush…”

Stiles catches the shirt and drapes it over one of his shoulders, “A crush?”

“Yeah,” Derek’s only giving half of his attention to the conversation with Stiles as he walks across the room to his closet, “Maybe he’s gay.”

Without missing a beat Stiles scoffs and says, “Gay for Scott.”

“Really?” Derek asks.

Derek finds a pair of sweatpants and boxers and tosses them to Stiles. The pants are a pair he only wears around the house and to bed therefore, he won’t miss them too much if he never gets them back. The boxers on the other hand, he will need back since he does wear them and can’t spare a pair, since he waits until he has absolutely no clean underwear to do his laundry. 

“No, but we all know he wants to bone Scott.” Stiles says in a dismissive tone.

“Oh.”

“Wait, so why do you think he’s gay?” Stiles’ tone is skeptical and a little worried.

Derek shrugs his shoulders while trying to find clean clothes for himself, “I don’t know. I thought he might’ve had a crush on my friend.”

“This was our first day of school so I don’t know how Isaac could already have a crush.”

“Maybe the kid works fast?” Derek offers, a little unsure if he is overstepping his boundaries.

“Who was the other guy?”

“What?” Derek looks at Stiles now and is completely confused; having forgot what they were just talking about whilst hunting for clothes.

“The person you think Isaac is crushing on?”

Derek jumps on and over his bed and grabs his pajama pants and a long sleeve tee shirt from the floor. “Camden Lahey,” he says, “Isaac was staring at him all through class. It was kind of creepy.”

Stiles looks at Derek with a slightly horrified expression, “Camden Lahey?”

“Yeah…” _No need to look so disgusted._ “He’s not a bad kid.”

Stiles’ face sobers up and he wrings the shirt in his hands, for lack of better things to do and says, “Oh yeah, probably not, but like, I don’t think Isaac’s crushing on him.”

Derek doesn’t think he’s wrong about Isaac, but he doesn’t want to offend Stiles so he says, “How do you know?”

“Well…” Stiles inhales very slowly, “He just doesn’t seem like Isaac’s type… you know? They’re… yeah no. They just wouldn’t- I highly doubt it.” Stiles juts his bottom lip out and raises his shoulders.

“Okay,” Derek decides to leave the topic alone, “The bathroom is over there,” he says and points across the hall.

Stiles turns around and pads across the floor to the bathroom. Derek can hear every step he takes since the floors squeak under him.

 _I wonder if Stiles knows his friends are werewolves… I wonder if he knows I’m a werewolf. I should probably find that out._ Derek puts the long sleeve shirt on, hating how it smells like the floor and is tugging his pajama bottoms on when Stiles walks back into the room.

Without looking at Stiles, Derek says, “So you’re friends with Scott right?”

“Yep,” Stiles says almost proudly, “He’s my best friend.”

 _I wonder how I can say this without sound like a freak?  How does someone ask someone if they’re friend is a werewolf?_ Derek mulls the questions over in his head. “Is Scott… is he,”

“Gay?” Stiles blurts out, “No, he’s not gay. At least, I don’t think so…” the last part came out sounding more like a question than a statement. “He has a girlfriend,” Stiles abruptly pauses before continuing, “Or he had a girlfriend. We don’t talk about that…. Ever.”

 _Well, this has gotten me nowhere,_ Derek almost groans before turning to face Stiles and trying again. “At least you two are close.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “But things have been weird lately.”

 _Bingo,_ Derek thinks. _I wonder If it’s because of Scott’s turning?_ “Why?”

Stiles shrugs, “I don’t know. Things got busy, a little too much to handle and we just sort of drifted.”

_Yep, definetly because of the turning. So, Stiles doesn’t know about Scott which means he for sure doesn’t know about me._

When Stiles steps further into Derek’s room, Derek fully sees him in his clothes and admits silently to himself that Stiles doesn’t look bad. No, not bad at all. The sweatpants Derek loaned him are rolled over at the waist so that the bottoms don’t drag on the floor. They rest pretty low on his hips but that might be due to Derek’s boxers which peek out, just a little over the lip of the sweats.  Derek does this too, rolls his sweatpants so that they don’t drag. His tee shirt doesn’t hug Stiles’ torso and the curve of his shoulders like it does on Derek, but it’s perfect length, ending just below the curve of his hips.

Stiles shivers with Derek looking at him which drives Derek to ask, “Can you hand me that sweatshirt?”

Stiles kneels down and picks up the thin hoodie and hands it over to Derek.

The goosebumps that pepper Stiles’ arm stick out like a warning sign to Derek who throws the sweatshirt on before walking over to his closet and pulling out another sweatshirt.

“Here,” he hands Stiles his varsity hoodie from sophomore year, “Put this on, it’s cold.”

The material is thick and Derek knows this because it used to be the only thing he wore on the weekends. It’s maroon; Beacon Hills colors, and a pullover. On the front, in the upper right is the Beacon Hills ‘Cyclones’ insignia and on the back it says, “Hale” over the numbers, “01”.

“Thanks,” Stiles says sheepishly and wriggles into the sweatshirt.

Derek thinks it’s a funny thing, seeing someone else in his clothes. He’s heard about guys giving their girlfriends a shirt of theirs or a jacket, and hell, Camden gave his girlfriend his swim team letterman last year, but Derek’s never actually done this himself. So, sure he thought it was a ‘cute’ concept… but not really. In fact he didn’t really understand the whole appeal in it all, until now.

He doesn’t know how to describe what he feels because he isn’t sure if the feeling should be there in the first place. Especially because of someone like Stiles, not that Stiles came off as a bad kid or anything, it’s just Derek feels he should keep his distance… maybe not play around with him. Oh, and there’s Kate Argent. Derek’s smitten with Kate Argent.

Neither of the teenagers knows what to talk about after that so both are relieved when Matt barges into Derek’s pigsty of a bedroom, demanding help with his Mathematics homework.

The next two hours are spent in the Hale kitchen. Stiles helps Matt with his math homework and also with Derek’s English essay and Derek cooks pasta.

Excluding the fact that one boy is a werewolf, one is from the future, and one grows up to be a mass murdering psychopath; they’re just normal kids hanging out after school, doing homework and eating pasta. It’s almost weird to Stiles like he’s being led into a false sense of security because, two days ago, Stiles’ world was a bloody battlefield, two days ago he was dodging claws and wearing blood that wasn’t his own, his friends; the people he had built bridges with, died right in front of him.

When Derek drops the cooking pot while drying it off, Stiles jumps sky high and knocks over Matt’s glass of juice. The glass tumbles to the ground and shatters, the juice flying everywhere. Derek jumps too, freezing in place as if he moved; something else would fall and break.

 _Okay,_ he thinks, _Okay that was weird. Time to check if everyone’s okay. Matt seems fine… shaken but fine. Stiles…,_ He notices that Stiles barely registers the glass breaking because the kid’s heart all but leaped from his chest when Derek initially dropped the pot.

Derek doesn’t know anything about Stiles other than he likes pancakes. He doesn’t know the hell Stiles knows, so when Stiles’ breathing and heartbeat don’t simmer down, he gets a little freaked out. It’s irregular and fast, and _this isn’t good,_ he thinks. Personally Derek’s never had a problem with anxiety or anything like that so he doesn’t know much about it. His only knowledge on the topic comes from what he’s read and what he’s seen on Tumblr, and from what Matt tells him.

Matt has had one panic attack in his short life. It happened when they were at Disney land and Matt got separated from Derek and his parents for two hours. It’s not very easy to sniff out a small boy in a place like Disney. Ever since then, whenever Matt gets really worried or uncomfortable about something; when he feels trapped, he would start hyperventilating or breathing really hard.

So, Derek hopes that what he’s about to do works to calm Stiles down because it’s how he calms Matt down. He walks over to Stiles slowly, evading the shattered glass on the floor and touches him on the shoulder gently. Derek is unsure if you’re supposed to touch someone directly when they’re having a mini freak out, but he does it anyway. He touches Stiles tenderly at first, as if to make sure Stiles won’t punch him and when Stiles shows no sign of stopping Derek, he slowly walks behind Stiles, and wraps his arms around Stiles’ shoulders. He has to bend down a bit since Stiles is sitting at the counter so that his chest is pressed up against the blades of Stiles’ shoulders.

 _Yeah…_ he thinks, _This is totally overstepping boundaries._

“Stiles?” he asks quietly. “Calm down.”

“What?” Matt asks from next to them.

Derek knows his little brother is confused, but he chooses to ignore the question and focuses on Stiles. “Just breathe, dude.” He says and just like that, Stiles’ heartbeat slowly starts to decline.

He’s still breathing heavily through his nose but at least he’s not on the lip of a panic attack.                  

Derek lets go of Stiles slowly and takes a huge breath of air before moving to pick up the pot. Again, he oversteps the glass, hoping that he doesn’t accidentally step on a huge shard. He’d be lying if he said his own heart wasn’t going a mile a minute.

Next to Stiles, Matt slides off the stool but before he can get anywhere Derek stops him, “Hey bud, can you just wait a minute? There’s glass everywhere and mom would kill me if you got hurt.”

“But,” Matt begins to protest. “I can help.”

“No, it’s sharp. Just go sit in the living room and Stiles and I will be out in a second.”

“But, Derek-,”

“Matt please? Just go.” Derek places the pot gently on the counter while Matt huffs and makes his way to the living room. 

When he bends to pick up the broken glass Stiles joins him on the floor and says, “Sorry, that noise just really startled me.”

There’s a pile of broken crystal and red juice between them.

“It’s okay.” Derek says. “Are you okay?” Of course he was only asking because it’s simply natural to ask the well-being of the person who almost had a panic attack in his kitchen and also, because he genuinely cared to know.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Stiles says with a big sigh, “I use to get them a lot when I was younger. Sorry about the glass, I’ll pay for it.” Stiles starts to help Derek pick up the drinking glass when the doorbell rings.

Stiles’ heart beat jumps for only a second at the sound, but Derek literally flinches. With his good hearing, he’s not used to being snuck up on and didn’t hear whoever is at the door arrive.

“Don’t worry about the glass,” Derek says and jumps over the mess to get the door.

He manhandles the front door open to see Lydia standing on his front step with an umbrella over her shoulder.

“Hi,” she says, “I’m here to pick Stiles up.”

“How did you know he was here?” Derek can’t help the skepticism in his tone.

“He called me when he was in the bathroom.”

Derek nods and looks outside. The rain has stopped falling from the sky, but it’s left behind an opaque mist that rolls over the ground in smooth waves. Stiles comes forward from the kitchen to stand beside Derek.

He has Matt by his side and says to Lydia, “This is Derek’s little brother, Matt.”

Lydia studies the boy for longer than what Derek would consider normal, yet all she says is, “Oh. Well, I’ll be in the car.” She turns around and hops off the porch and saunters to the car.

Stiles turns around and looks Derek in the eye and offers a half smile, “Thanks.” He laughs, “I would’ve drowned in that rainstorm.”

“No problem. Don’t forget your backpack in my car. I’ll bring your clothes to school tomorrow.”

“Okay. What about the glass?”

Derek shrugs and leans against the door frame, “I break shit all the time and I don’t have to pay for it so you shouldn’t have to either.” _I feel like that came out wrong…_ Derek thinks.

Stiles smiles at him again then looks away and towards the car. “Well thanks again,” he says before stepping out from the doorway and into the late afternoon.

Derek watches Stiles long enough to make sure he gets his backpack. After that he closes the door and leans against it for a long moment thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to write an entire day as one chapter instead of splitting it into several chapters because it gets confusing. So the next time I update it should be a pretty long chapter. :)
> 
> s-t-e-r-e-k-h-o-b-r-i-e-n.tumblr.com


	8. Covered In Bad Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit you guys I am sorry. so. so. sorry.  
> Anyway I started a new story  
> its a crossover between THE WALKING DEAD and TEEN WOLF.  
> Check it out.

The next day in school the heater breaks. Stiles suffers through the cold for three periods before deciding to put on Derek’s washed hoodie that he brought with him. It’s the period before lunch and he slumps in his chair and plays with the sleeves of the sweatshirt to keep himself awake because he got, maybe an hour of sleep… two at the most.

Stiles guesses this must have something to do with PTSD because he woke up covered in a cold sweat, his muscles clenched tight. His heart pounding in his hears. He knows that he’s not the only one dealing with the aftermath of what they went through because Scott has nightmares too. He’s much louder than Stiles when he dreams. 

 _Time for lunch,_ he thinks when the bell rings.

On his way to the cafeteria he gets a lot of weird looks from both girls and boys and even one teacher. Stiles assumes this is because he’s wearing a hoodie that obviously isn’t his because it has Derek’s last name in big-ass letters on the back. Derek isn’t, Mr. Popular, or anything, but he’s definitely more popular than Stiles.

He makes a point to smile at everyone who stares him down, especially the girls. He hasn’t seen Tucker yet which is good because Stiles is in no mood for any kind of bullshit today.

He sees his friends in the lunch room, looking intently at one another like they were discussing some big secret. Which is probably exactly what they’re doing, Stiles thinks and makes his way over.

“Why are you wearing that?” Jackson raises his eyebrows at Stiles’ clothing choice.

“Because it’s cold.” Stiles says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Scott makes a face, “People are staring at you.”

“Oh my god guys,” Stiles says exasperatedly, “It’s not a big deal! It’s just a sweatshirt.”

“It’s Derek’s sweatshirt.”

Stiles uncaps his water and takes a swig, “So? Derek’s not that big of a deal.”

Lydia waves a hand at him dismissively. “We have to figure out what is going on between him and Mrs. Argent because I can’t stand to be in that English room with both of them.”

“Wait, you think there is something going on between them?” Scott asks.

“Yeah,” Lydia scoffs, “Duh.”

Scott pushes his tray away, “That’s… fucked up?”

“Yeah,” Lydia repeats.

“So, what do we do?” Isaac asks and leans back from the table.

“I’m not sure. Well… we have to stop the fire, right?” Scott directs the last part at Stiles.

“Yeah, that’s what Deaton said.” Stiles sighs and rests his arms on the table, “We have to stop the fire and we know that Kate starts the fire.”

“Kate is also Derek’s teacher, which is obviously how they met.” Jackson chimes in.

“But, how does the fire correlate with Matt killing everyone?” Stiles wonders aloud.

“No clue,” Jackson says.

Stiles sighs.

“Do you think that Kate and Derek know about each other? You know the whole hunter and werewolf thing?” Isaac asks.

“I’m not sure,” Stiles shrugs, “But, since Lydia and Jackson have a class with both of them, they can provide insight.”

Jackson and Lydia nod in agreement.

“All I know is that we have to get Kate away from Derek.” Stiles says before pausing dramatically and holding his hand up, “Oh, and Matt is Derek’s little brother.”

Silence.

“He… what?” Scott freezes.

“I saw him when I picked Stiles up from Derek’s last night.” Lydia vouches, “It’s true.”

“Oh my God, I don’t think this situation could get anymore fucked up if it tried.” Scott whines and looks aggravated.

Isaac sighs, “So, basically we have a ton of information but nothing that connects it all together?”

“Yes, so we know that Kate and Derek are student and teacher and for some deranged reason Kate burns down Derek’s house. We know that crazy Matt is Derek’s little brother which explains why he was a werewolf, but it doesn’t explain why he killed Derek… and everyone else.” Stiles runs the information through his brain over and over, trying to make sense of it all.

“If Matt is Derek’s brother then why doesn’t he have the same last name… or live with him?” Isaac asks.

Stiles shrugs, “I don’t know. But if we stop the fire then maybe Matt won’t grow up to be so fucked in the head,” he starts to say but is cut off because Lydia harshly ‘shh’s him. He’s about to call Lydia out for being rude when he spots Derek a few feet away and understands.

Derek crashes down next to Stiles, with his backpack still on his shoulders and says, “That math test just fucked me.” He brings the green apple in his hands to his lips and says, “In the ass,” and bites into it.

Stiles’ eyebrows creep to his hairline and he doesn’t know if he should be disturbed or not, so he looks towards his friends, hoping to copy one of their expressions.

“It didn’t even bother to use lube,” Derek continues, “No fancy dinner and no foreplay, just bent me over and stuck-,”

“Well,” a voice cut’s Derek’s off by saying, “Someone has a very colorful vocabulary.” Kate places Derek’s cell phone down on the table next to him.

Derek freezes, looking halfway between horrified and pleased, “My bad.”

Kate looks smug when she says, “Yes, weren’t you in detention yesterday for swearing?”

Derek bites in to the apple, “Well… no. I was in detention for pitching a paper ball at Tucker’s face. Stiles was the one who was in for bad language.”

When Kate turns from Derek to look at him, he sees nothing but a challenge in her green eyes. “Stiles?” she says curiously, “That’s an interesting name.”

Stiles offers a half-hearted smile, “Yeah.”

Kate purses her lips and says, “Cool,” and directs her attention back to Derek, “Don’t use your phone in class again or I will have to make you stay after school.”

Derek looks up at her from his seat and raises one eyebrow, “Is that a challenge?”

 _Wait woah,_ Stiles thinks. _Is Derek seriously egging her on?_

Kate looks amused. The kind of exasperated amuse that Stiles sees his father use with him. “Very funny Derek, but I’m serious.”

“Got it, won’t happen again,” Derek says and watches Kate cross the lunch room and leave down the hall.

 _What the literal fuck was that?_ Stiles thinks as he watches Derek watch Kate walk away.

He feels kind of gross after that because Derek is obviously staring at Kate’s behind, which is wrong in so many different ways. Stiles can’t even fathom how wrong it is.

“Stop staring at her ass,” he says to Derek.

Derek looks from Kate to Stiles slowly, takes a bite of the sour fruit, and then looks around the table, “So, yeah… that math test totally screwed me over.”

Everyone else just looks uncomfortable.

“Oh yeah, before I forget,” Derek puts the apple down on the table and slips his backpack off and places it in his lap. “Here are your clothes,” he says and pulls out a bag from the biggest compartment in his backpack.

“Thanks man,” Stiles says and takes the bag and does his best to ignore the curious looks from Jackson and Isaac who were not informed about Stiles’ little after school adventure with Derek.

“No problem,” Derek says and slings his backpack back onto his back and picks up his apple.

“Your clothes are still in my wash,” Stiles says truthfully.

“Okay, just get them back to me whenever.”

Stiles nods and then remembers that he planned to give Derek back his sweatshirt, so he drops the bag with his clothes in it on the floor and wiggles out of the sweatshirt. The sleeves flap everywhere and he almost punches Lydia in the face, apologizing quickly before lifting the material over his head.

 His long sleeve shirt rides up a bit, exposing the light trail of hair that runs from his belly button all the way down his navel.

“Here you go,” Stiles says and is handing Derek the varsity hoodie when a horrifying thought hits him, _Oh shit, what if he wanted this washed too._ “I was wearing it because it’s cold.”

Derek takes the sweatshirt like it’s no big deal, but since his mouth is full the only thanks he can give Stiles is a smile before he stands up and leaves to go sit with his friends.

Stiles exhales when Derek leaves. He didn’t even notice that he was holding his breath until now. It’s still cold though, so he pulls out his own sweatshirt from the bag Derek handed him and puts it on, not caring that he wore it the day before.

True to his word, Derek had washed his clothes for him. The sweatshirt is soft to the touch and smells like detergent.

The group waits until Derek is far away before continuing their conversation.

“Holy shit,” Scott groans.

“I guess the first step is finding out the deal between Derek and Kate and what kind of relationship they have.” Stiles grimaces at the thought of what they can find.

He has a million theories about Derek and Kate and each theory is worse than the last one. Some of them are so outrageous that there is no way they could be true.

The rest of the day is very uneventful for Stiles. Since the heater is broken, the repair crew is bashing away with their tools at some discreet part of the school. After lunch, Stiles finds a note wedged into the door of his locker. He pulls it out, curiosity washing over him and opens it.

**Fag**

It says in thick unfamiliar handwriting. Stiles stares at the paper and frowns. He looks around to see if anyone is watching him but everyone is in too much of a hurry with their own business to care.

 _Maybe it’s because I was wearing Derek’s sweatshirt,_ he thinks.

An uneasy feeling starts to bubble in the pit of Stiles’ stomach, like he’s heavy with worry. He closes his locker, crushes the paper in between his fingers, and walks to class.

Stiles is pretty sure that Tucker is the one who put the note in his locker. He isn’t positive though, and won’t be until something else happens or Tucker confesses. It’s a Stilinski hunch though, that Tucker is the one. Yet, Stiles can’t help but wonder if someone else has some secret beef with him other than the swim team star.

He gets one more note at the very end of the day. It falls out from his locker when he swings open the door and shoots across the hallway. Stiles contemplates letting it go and leaving it on the floor, but it looks suspiciously like a note, all folded up, which would tempt people to open it and read it instead of just tossing it like garbage. Utter garbage.

Sighing, he walks over and politely shoulders some students out of the way before bending over and scooping up the paper. Again, he looks around to see if anybody is watching him and again no body meets his eyes.

In messy scrawl is Derek’s phone number. Nothing fancy just his name and his number.

Stiles is confused like, _Why would Derek give me his number?_ It seemed very out of character for him. _Do I text him? Do I not text him?_ Stiles internally wars with himself. _What if someone is playing a trick on me. This is weird._

He pulls out his phone and begrudgingly punches Derek’s phone number in under the name, ‘wat’ because that is the only word fit to describe the situation Stiles is in and slips his phone back into his pocket. If he doesn’t hurry up and get to the car, Lydia will leave without him.

He doesn’t text Derek until he’s in the car with Isaac squished in between him and Scott. He spends half the car ride trying to think of something he could say that would accurately portray both his confusion and suspicion without sounding like an asshole.

With a sigh he types,

Stiles: is this legit?

And he hits send before he can second guess himself. Of course he then thinks up a million different ways he could have worded that text that made him more intelligent.

Derek: Is what legit? Who is this?

Stiles: Stiles M. I mean did you actually give me your number or is this some weird prank?

Derek: Yeah, no prank:]

Stiles looks at his phone, a little skeptical another incoming text from Derek saves him from having to respond.

Derek: You looked cute in my sweatshirt today.

 _What!?_ Stiles thinks to himself and he is totally stumped on how to respond because no one as attractive as Derek has ever called him cute before and it seems so out of character for the werewolf he knows that he can’t help but be skeptical.

Stiles: thanks, uh, do you know who stuck that note in my locker after lunch?

 _The note that called me a fag because I wore your sweatshirt…_ he thinks sarcastically.

Derek: I don’t even know where your locker is, so… no.

Stiles; I wasn’t asking if you were the one who did it, I was wondering if you knew who did.

Derek: Nope, I can ask around for you though?

Stiles: It’s okay.

They text for the rest of the night about small stuff and as the night wears on and Stiles’s focus wears off his texts with Derek start to get playful, but Derek doesn’t have a hard time keeping up with his wit.  It still seems weird to Stiles though, flirting (if he can even call it that) with Derek. Like, why would Derek flirt with him, why would he be interested in him?

Derek: We should hang out more;)

Stiles: sure

He sends the message but treats it as an empty promise. He doesn’t know what the winky-face means at the end of Derek’s text saying he wants to hang out with Stiles more, but he can guess that Derek’s implying something more complicated than just, ‘hanging out’.  He’s not ready for complicated or any type of commitment that comes attached to that winky-face.

Stiles settles into his makeshift bed, careful not to drop his cell phone. In the other room, he hears Lydia and Jackson arguing, Scott is talking with Deaton somewhere, and Isaac is staring blankly at his homework next to Stiles. Stiles wonders if Isaac is avoiding sleep or really can’t figure out his homework.

 _We already learned that stuff,_ he thinks. _Isaac shouldn’t be having too much trouble. But then again… his dad was beating the crap out of him so maybe he had other things on his mind._

Then he remembers the conversation he had with a very shirtless Derek about Camden Lahey and decides to bring it up with Isaac.

“Derek thinks you have a crush on your brother,” he says quietly.

Isaac’s focus rips away from his homework and averts to Stiles, “What?”

Stiles settles down on his cot, with the blankets pooled around his waist. His phone is grasped in his hands and he’s pushing random buttons to light the screen up because he has nothing better to do.

“Derek thinks you have a crush on your brother,” he repeats.

“I don’t…” Isaac says a-matter-of-factly. “My life is not a Folger’s Coffee commercial.”

Stiles bursts out laughing, and with each laugh his muscles relax a bit more. “I know,” Stiles smiles.

In his hands a new text from Derek comes through. Stiles lifts the phone above him to look at it while he’s laying on his back. He doesn’t open the text though and places the phone on his stomach, deciding to focus on his conversation with Isaac.

“He said that you stared at Camden all class and that’s why he thinks that you’re crushing hardcore on him. I wish I could tell him that you’re his brother for fucking sake. This is irony at its finest.”

“So, you’re saying that it was my _staring_ that gave me away and Derek didn’t pick up on my pounding heartbeat with his supersonic ears?” Isaac jokes.

Stiles laughs and shoots the runaway a grin, “either way, I told him that he is wrong about thinking you have a thing for your brother.”

Isaac absentmindedly taps his pencil against the table and says, “I can’t believe my brother is best friends with Derek Hale… or… was best friends,” he corrects.

“Yeah!” Stiles says animatedly, “what a small world.”

He rolls over and his phone slides from his stomach and down to the floor.

Isaac reaches down and picks it up. He hits one of the outside buttons and the screen lights up. “You have a text from Derek,” he says and makes a face.

 _Oh yeah,_ Stiles thinks, _Totally forgot about that._

Derek: theres a dance on Friday, Beacon Hills’s winter formal (yeah, kind of lame) we treat it light homecoming since we don’t have a football team and don’t have an actual homecoming.

Oh Stiles knows what the winter formal at Beacon Hills is.  It was the night where he won the girl of his dreams and almost lost her. He refers to it as his, “emotional-rollercoaster-Lydia-almost-dying-day”.

He looks away from the text and scrubs his eyes with his hands. When he looks back down and reads the rest of the message his eyes widen.

Derek: do you want to go with me? I’ll pick you up.

Stiles makes a disgruntled sound and stares blankly at his phone like the way Isaac stared at his homework earlier.

Stiles: Like as a date?

Derek: Yeah

Stiles turns to Isaac, “Derek just asked me to go with him to the formal on Friday.”

Isaac looks puzzled and glances longingly back at his homework like he’d rather be struggling with equations than listening to Stiles’ weird boy problems. “You should go,” he says. “Who would’ve guessed Derek liked boys,” he says quickly, “I mean, you know,” he adds as to not offend Stiles, “I didn’t mean that in an offensive way or anything.”

Stiles shrugs and almost laughs at how awkward Isaac is being. “It’s no big deal dude, I don’t even know if I like boys, and Derek is the last person I would have expected to be into guys.”

He pulls up a new text box and types.

Stiles; sure, I’ll go with you, but it’ll break some hearts to see you with me instead of one of your secret fangirls.

This, Stiles knows, is true that Derek could get with almost anyone if he tried because he’s attractive stuff.

Stiles: Why me though?

Derek: because you’re interesting

Stiles: Good enough for me

Derek: J I’m going to go to bed but ill talk to you tomorrow.

Stiles: k, goodnight:P

Derek: Night.

The first thing that Stiles does the next morning at breakfast is casually inform everyone that he is going to the formal with Derek.

Naturally, Lydia demands to see the texts from Derek. Stiles refuses to show them to her if because they’re strewn with suggestive winky-faces. He doesn’t want anyone to jump to conclusions.

“Isaac,” Lydia says, “you’re going to the dance with me.”

Isaac makes a startled noise, but Lydia shuts him up by holding her finger up, in the universal –Lydia is talking- sign.

“Jackson,” Lydia continues, “you and Scott are going to see if you guys can find out anything else about Derek and his relationship with Kate argent. Go to their houses.”

“But, what if someone sees us.” Scott asks.

“They won’t,” she says.

“But-,”

“They won’t,” she repeats with more force behind the statement than last time.  “I’m giving you no other options Scott McCall. They won’t see you because you’re going to be stealthy.” She looks at Jackson, “Don’t mess this up.” Then she looks at both Scott and Jackson and says, “There is no room for error boys.”

“But, Derek is a werewolf.” Jackson deadpans.

“That doesn’t matter because he’ll be too busy going to the dance with Stiles,” Lydia argues, “Jeez, am I the only one with a brain around here?”

At this, Stiles waves his hand, because he too has a brain and knows how to use it.

Stiles and Derek text until Stiles arrives at school and Derek says he has to go.

In second Period, Stiles overhears a conversation between two girls. They’re talking about how Derek is taking him to the dance. Part of Stiles isn’t surprised because some things never change, like how fast rumors spread through Beacon Hills High School.

But he does flush and pretends not to be eves dropping on their conversation. He worries that people will start making a big deal out of nothing and that some jealousy driven girls don’t start secretly harassing him. He thinks back to the note in his locker earlier and cringes.

Thankfully no one has come up to him and actually said anything regarding the winter formal. He wouldn’t really know what to do, but give some seriously half-asses sarcastic remark. Friday is coming up a lot sooner than Stiles likes, it’s only Wednesday which gives Stiles more than plenty of time to second guess himself and question his and Derek’s life choices.

 _What if he really likes me?_ _Isn’t that like playing with fire? I mean, I’ll have to leave this time period sooner or later… getting involved with Derek is probably the most reckless and stupid thing I can do. I wonder if it’s too late to back out._

In the end Stiles decides to go with Derek to the formal, and it’s not like Lydia would let him back out if he tried.

He figures, the less time he has available, the less tempted he’ll be to go see his mom. That doesn’t mean he wants to see her any less. If he could, he’d sit with her for hours and ask her all the questions that he never got too. He would hold her hand and watch her sleep. She would laugh as he talks her ear off and when he apologizes for running his mouth she would call him by his real name and tell him, _it’s alright_ , because he gets it from her.  

Stiles kind of hates how funny Derek actually is. Stiles’s humor runs on dry wit born from the heat of the moment and Derek is sarcastic as hell. So of course their conversations last for hours.

Lydia doesn’t ever have to ask who he’s texting because she just assumes its Derek.

Scott is very confused about the situation and Stiles doesn’t blame him because he’s confused too. One night Scott climbs into his bed in the early night and demands some clarification. Stiles just tells him it’s a good chance for the pack to gain some information if he goes to the dance with Derek. Scott stops him from saying anything more by asking if Stiles has feelings for Derek. Stiles buries his face into the blankets, missing his own bed immensely, and shakes his head no. Because saying no is easier than saying yes. Scott stares at him and doesn’t say anything else.

***Earlier that same day***

“Who are you texting?” Derek looks over at Tucker for the fifth time since he picked him up for school.

Tucker never used to be a big texter. In fact, when they were younger Tucker always borrowed Derek’s phone to call his parents because he never brought his own cell phone anywhere. As a result of this, Tuckers parents began to communicate to their son via Derek.

Derek’s running on three hours of sleep and a cup of coffee and the sound Tucker’s phone makes whenever he gets a new message is really starting to irritate him.

He pulls up to a stop sign and runs his hands through his unbrushed hair. Next to him, Tucker chuckles at his cell phone.

“Give me,” Derek tiredly demands and makes a pass for the phone. He gets his fingers curled around it before Tucker slaps his arm away and frowns.

“No.” Is all Tucker says.

“What? Are you texting a girl or something?” Derek makes an affection mixed with disgust look.

Tucker pauses, his fingers hovered over the keypad of his phone, “Yeah.”

Derek pulls away from the sign and yawns, “You gonna’ tell me who?

“Nope.” After a moment, “So, are you going to the dance on Friday?”

“Uh, no.” Derek says.

“Why not?”

Derek thinks of a _good_ lie, “I can’t dance. Why are you going?”

“Yeah,” Tucker says smugly.

“With the girl you’re texting?” Derek tries.

Tucker snorts and shuts his phone, “No, I’m going with Kara. Hey, so why was that kid, Stiles McKall wearing your sweatshirt the other day?”

“Uhm,” Derek has to think about what Tucker just said to him because he’s focusing on the intersection he’s passing through, “he was cold.”

“No, I mean why did he have it in the first place?”

When Derek doesn’t respond right away because he’s focused on not falling asleep at the wheel, Tucker offhandedly adds, “Please tell me you didn’t fuck him.”

Derek makes a face, “What the fuck kind of question is that?!”

“Dude just answer the question.”

“No, Tuck… we didn’t do anything.” Annoyance is clear in his tone, “and it wouldn’t be a big deal if we did, calm down.”

“Okay, well if you guys didn’t have sex then why did he have it?”

“It’s a long story that is neither sexual nor exciting. I just let him borrow some clothes after we got caught out in the rain.”

“But he wore it the next day.” Tucker deadpans.

“So, what?”

“I’m just saying, kids might talk.”

“Then let them talk.” Derek growls and pulls into the school parking lot. According to the clock on his dashboard, they’re three minutes late. Derek parks his car and turns the engine off. Tucker doesn’t move to get out right away because he’s staring at his cell phone screen. Derek scowls, “Get your ass out of the car so I can lock it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2015: I'm so fucking sorry but I won't be continuing this story unless some miracle happens. If you're interested in possibly taking the story for me Please message me on tumblr, and I can give you the entire plot plan that I have.


End file.
